


A Flower in the Sun

by bauble



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Auguste Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 57
Words: 44,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate reality in which Vere & Akielos never go to war.  Kastor still seeks to usurp the Akielon throne, however, thrusting Damianos & Laurent into a situation in which they have to pretend they are lovers.  Their friendship and pretend relationship slowly become something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

[ DAMEN ]

"A most excellent fight," Damen says, trying to catch his breath. He is sore all over. Across the field, both Veretian and Akielon physicians are hurrying towards them. He wipes a trickle of blood from his eyes and holds out his hand to Auguste, who smiles warmly and takes it without hesitation.

"You are my better," Auguste says as Damen helps him to his feet. "I should have trained harder. The rumors of your martial prowess pale in comparison to reality."

"You are the worthiest opponent I have ever faced," Damen says, spreading his arms to allow the physicians access to his wounds; Auguste scored several good hits, though nothing life threatening. "Your skill is a credit to your nation."

"As is yours. It would be my honor to host a banquet in your honor tonight at Marlas." 

"It would be my pleasure to join you," Damen says, clasping Auguste's hand once more—this time as a compeer, not as a victor in the ring. He allows himself to notice now, the strength in Auguste's grip, his broad shoulders and handsome fairness. Gladiatorial battles always raise Damen's blood, and such displays of strength and valor could make for a most rousing evening in the bedchamber.

But there is no answering spark of desire in Auguste's eyes, and Damen lets go, a trifle wistful. At least the Akielon camp is filled with the finest athletes their nation has to offer, and it should present no difficulty to find an eager companion for the evening.

"Then it is done. Tonight we toast to the amity between our two nations. In the spirit—" Auguste pauses. Damen follows his gaze to a flash of pale gold, disappearing into the colorful confection that is the Veretian crown prince's tent.

"In the spirit of friendship and honor, on the eve of the games between Vere and Akielon," Damen says, gently releasing Auguste. "I bid you good afternoon, and will see you later tonight."

Auguste recovers himself and smiles, gratefully. "Until tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

[ AUGUSTE ]

"He trounced you thoroughly," Laurent says.

"That he did." Auguste laughs wryly as the tent flap closes behind him. "Though he was gracious in victory and did not lord it over me as some others, who might remain unnamed, do."

"When your defeats are so hard to come by, one surely cannot begrudge an ecstatic savoring of the moment," Laurent replies as he comes to embrace Auguste. "Should you be walking? You're covered in a spectacular amount of blood, which I can assume is none of the Akielon's."

"No, he should not," Paschal says, entering the conversation with a disapproving tone. "Unless his Highness would prefer a collection of scars as a memento of this day?"

"Scratches," Auguste says dismissively, even as he hides a wince. He will be purple all over in bruising tomorrow, no doubt. 

Laurent, of course, misses nothing and snorts. "There is no shame in admitting injury when one is utterly outmatched, Auguste. One does not deny that trees fell and homes collapsed when a storm passes through a town."

Auguste frowns. "I should hardly consider the comparison of Damianos to a gale fitting."

"I should," Paschal interjects, prodding Auguste's injured arm with no inconsequential force himself. "I must strongly warn your Highness against further participation in the games to follow these next few days."

"But—"

"Your body requires time to heal." As if to punctuate his point, Paschal applies pressure to a particularly tender spot and Auguste only barely manages to restrain a hiss of pain. "In an argument you might find more compelling: you will likely make a poor showing and most certainly lose if the Akielon crown prince joins the field."

"That's no call to sulk," Laurent says, heedless of the fact that Auguste would never do anything as undignified as sulk. "We have summoned all of Vere's great athletes to Delfeur for the precise purpose of competing in the games. Your participation would only displace one who has been preparing assiduously for this week. Besides, aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing here?"

"Why ask when it is patently obvious?" Auguste replies, reclining on a couch and finally giving himself over to Paschal's less than tender ministrations. "You're here in defiance of our King's express orders to stay in Arles and concentrate on your studies."

"Father really should know better than to order me to do anything anymore," Laurent says as he peers through the tent flap, back at the field. "It only compels me to defy him more absolutely."

"He only worries for your safety. Peace is a fragile—"

"Well, he shouldn't," Laurent says, petulant tone a reminder of how young he still is, months shy of twenty-one years. "If anything, he should worry more for your safety. Especially since you insist on throwing yourself into danger with Akielon barbarians twice your height and width."

"If only I could excuse my loss with such a difference in scale," Auguste says dryly, thinking back on the agility with which Damianos had moved, his virtuosity with a blade. "And you know Father means well. He is vigilant, and justly so, since his own brother died young in a riding accident."

"I don't see what that has to do with me," Laurent says, though some of the anger in his voice is thawing. "I am an excellent rider."

"You are indeed," Auguste says, and pats the cushion beside him on the couch. "Now come. Sit, and tell me all the goings-on of the court."


	3. Chapter 3

[ DAMEN ]

After an excellent tumble with Pallas—who is as enthusiastic and fit and handsome a partner as one could ever wish—Damen settles down to rehearse the speech he'd prepared for the evening. He reads it aloud, sounding out the Veretian words with great care. 

There'll be a great deal of pomp and circumstance befitting the first official meeting of two crown princes. Damen can only hope that it won't go on for too long. His last method of coping with the tedium of overlong ceremony had been imbibing alcohol, which resulted in his falling asleep halfway through the proceedings. He awoke to the full fury of both a displeased mother and a hangover.

He's in the middle of being dressed in ceremonial garb when Nikandros enters the tent.

"How go the preparations for tonight?" Nikandros asks, his familiarity and candor a refreshing change after a day spent with Veretian diplomats.

"Well enough, I suppose." Damen sighs. "The Veretian word for 'hope' is astoundingly similar in sound to the word for 'bastard'. I'm having visions of slipping and insulting everyone's parentage at dinner. I shall be glad to have the whole speech over and done with." Damen pauses, noticing Nikandros' odd expression. "What is it?"

"Prince Auguste's brother has arrived in Delfeur and may be joining us at Marlas."

"Interesting. I'll have to adjust my remarks, then," Damen says, and eyes Nikandros. "Is there more?"

"They say that Laurent is not like his brother. Not skilled in combat or sport, but a scholar." Nikandros hesitates. "They also say he is fair and surpassing beautiful."

That catches Damen's attention. "Oh?"

"Damen," Nikandros says, tone rising in warning. "He may not be the heir apparent, but he is still three heartbeats away from the Veretian throne."

"And?"

"They handle romantic affairs differently in Vere."

"I would of course go through all the proper channels in order to court a prince properly if the spirit so moved me," Damen says. "Do you think I would do anything less?"

"It is not your intentions which give me pause."

Damen smiles at Nikandros, endlessly amused. "Are you worried for my tender feelings?"

Nikandros gives Damen an exasperated look. "Of course I know you can handle your feelings, tender or otherwise. But their ways are different than ours. They are a canny, ruthless people, and who knows how far that may extend into politics or romance."

"Now you sound like the king," Damen says as Lykaios finishes pinning the last of his regalia. "'Veretians are all liars, deceivers, and schemers who cannot be trusted!'"

"He has been to the Veretian court on several occasions. Perhaps he has reason to think thus."

"Perhaps, but I met Auguste in battle today, and in words after," Damen says. "I did not find him to be anything but good and honorable, and a worthy successor to the throne."

"But—"

"Nikandros." Damen puts a hand on his arm and smiles. "I have no intention of pursuing this young Veretian prince, no matter how lovely he is. You know my preference tilts largely towards women."

"You have made exceptions."

"Perhaps, but only for men in far less complicated circumstances." Damen makes a final adjustment to his garb. "The last thing Akielos needs is dramatics involving a prince of Vere."

Nikandros seems profoundly relieved. "I am glad you agree."

Damen raises an eyebrow as they leave the tent. "There are many beautiful men and women in the world, Nikandros. Is this prince really such a cause for concern?"

"He is most fair."

"It's not as if I only—" Damen frowns slightly. "I'm not that predictable, am I?"

Nikandros demurs, and makes a hasty exit from the tent.


	4. Chapter 4

The fortress of Marlas is a remarkable piece of architecture in the Veretian grand style. Decorative tile, intricate tapestries, and beautiful stonework dazzle while cleverly concealing the thick defensive walls, the reinforced doorways and windows. Veretian courtiers and soldiers greet the Akielon procession dressed like velvet-clad jewels themselves.

Auguste waits on a raised dais in the Great Hall, in ornate Veretian clothing with an elaborate golden circlet. Damen's gaze would be tempted to linger if it weren't for the man seated beside him.

Where Auguste is broad-shouldered and handsome, Prince Laurent is a lithe, elegant presence with alabaster skin and striking features; Damen can see now why Nikandros had been concerned.

Heralds trumpet to announce Damen's entrance, and Auguste delivers a greeting from his seat. Damen returns his own greeting in careful Veretian, bowing with similar formality, and turns to regard Laurent.

"It is an unexpected pleasure to make your acquaintance, Prince Laurent," Damen says, as he recalls the advice of his mother: _prudence and care, my dear son. For you will be king one day, and a king cannot yield to an impulsive spirit and thus imperil his nation._

A pity, Damen thinks. Reports of Laurent's beauty were not exaggerated at all.

"Come, let us not stand on ceremony," Laurent says, making his way down the steps of with lissome grace. Before Damen can reply or, indeed, react to what is happening, Laurent brushes a kiss against Damen's right cheek, then his left—a whisper of contact that sets Damen's heart pounding. "Our nations are friends. Should we be any less?"

It is bold to lay hands on a royal person while they are strangers to each other. Laurent seems not at all cowed, returning Damen's eye contact with an almost—mischievous intent.

"My brother, Prince Laurent," Auguste says as Laurent returns to his seat. Though Auguste's expression is serene, something in his tone indicates none of Laurent's behavior comes as a surprise.

Damen bows once more, still flabbergasted, and follows attendants to the dining room.

The feast begins. An astonishing array of breads, sweetmeats, and candied fruit are brought forth, all arranged artfully on gilded plates. Fragrant alcohol is decanted, flowing from seemingly bottomless flagons.

Damen finds himself seated across from Auguste, sandwiched between Laurent and a Venetian courtier, a noblewoman by the name of Vannes. Nikandros is seated several heads away, beyond reach.

Damen attempts to split his attention between the guests seated around him equally, with especial focus on Auguste. Left to his own devices, Damen would love to do nothing more than stare at Laurent's remarkable profile in wonder, watch those lush lips curve. But he can practically hear the voice of his mother urging caution, and so he speaks to Auguste about tournament rules, to Vannes about weather.

All attempts to evade conversation with Laurent are for naught when Laurent touches his shoulder and murmurs, "Prince Damianos."

"Yes?" Damen replies, neutrally.

"I have heard rumors about Akielos, but I can never be sure of whether to put stock in such things," Laurent says, and Damen prepares himself for a query about food, perhaps, or methods of dress. "Is it true you lay with opposite sex partners before marriage?"

Damen nearly chokes on a sweetmeat and grabs his wine goblet, taking a long swallow. "I—what?"

"In Vere, there is great wariness of bastardy ever since a near revolution six generations ago, during Queen Yseult's reign," Laurent continues blithely, as if he sees nothing amiss in their first conversation being about the particulars of one's sexual partners. "Since then, we are limited to same-sex partners before taking a consort."

Damen takes another long drag of wine while Laurent awaits his response. "In Akielos, I suppose we may do as we wish."

"It is enjoyable, then, to lie with a woman?" 

Damen glances longingly down the table; Nikandros cannot help him now. "It can be, yes."

"As enjoyable as lying with a man?" Laurent is leaning in rather closely, Damen realizes, with an expression that could almost be described as—coy.

"I do not know that I could—compare such things," Damen says, fumbling for words. "Every experience is unique, individual."

"Indeed." Laurent meets Damen's eyes, lashes long and golden. "I am fortunate that Veretian taboos do not inhibit me from pursuing the individual experiences which interest me."

"I think any man who draws your attention would be the fortunate one," Damen says, honestly, and is rewarded with Laurent's slow smile. The last thing Damen should do is smile back.

"And who currently draws your attention?" 

"I—" Damen glances over at Nikandros, then at Auguste, looking for any sort of assistance with this incorrigible prince. Both are distracted by conversation with others. "I find myself questioning my current choices."

Laurent's smile falters slightly. "Indeed?"

Auguste chooses that moment to stand, lifting his glass in the air for a toast. "To the amity between Akielos and Vere. May it exist for as long as Prince Damianos and I both shall live."

* * * * *

Damen returns to his tent alone. He spends himself with Lykaios, determined not to think of any men with yellow hair all the while. 


	5. Chapter 5

The games begin. In the mornings and afternoons various tests of skill take place, with equal numbers of Veretian and Akielon athletes competing. 

Damen himself joins the field for several of the sports, antsy in the sheltered royal tent beside Auguste and Laurent. Auguste is an excellent companion to watch sports with, full of lively commentary and good cheer; Laurent, not so much, with his shockingly sexual remarks, and his wide-legged sprawl. Laurent seems to think most of the activities are thinly veiled excuses for handsome men to roll around naked for public titillation, rather than the great contests of valor and strength that they are.

The victories go evenly between Veretian and Akielon competitors. Most dedicate their successes to their respective Kings, although a few Veretians make dedications to 'amity between nations' with sly looks at Damen. 

In the evenings, Damen also receives gifts, tokens of affection from admirers hailing from both countries. It is flattering enough, though he cannot say he enjoys much of the Veretian poetry.

He engages with a few Akielon suitors and avoids the rest. The last thing he needs is a diplomatic incident when the games seem to be going so well.


	6. Chapter 6

[ LAURENT ]

Towards Laurent, Damianos is unfalteringly, ploddingly kind. He is courteous, observes most proper Veretian customs, and distantly polite. It is the way one would treat a very small child, or perhaps the village idiot.

With Auguste, Damianos jokes and laughs and tussles. They watch all the tournaments together when Damianos isn't participating himself, and spar daily. The difference in behavior is infuriating.

"Why does he not come to court me?" Laurent demands of Auguste.

"Who?" Auguste asks absently, not looking up from his letters. He passes one to the servant who waits silently by the desk, holding a silver tray.

"The Akielon crown prince."

If Auguste is surprised by this, he doesn't show it. Nor does he display any sympathy. "Seek comfort in the arms of one of your numerous other suitors. You certainly have no shortage of them."

"They are a pleasant diversion, it's true. However—" Laurent flings himself across a chaise lounge and stares up at the tent ceiling. "None of them are the athlete that Damianos is."

Auguste shrugs, seeming uninterested in the particulars of Laurent's romantic escapades. "Why don't you court him?"

Laurent slowly swivels his head to stare at Auguste, wondering if this is his idea of a joke. "Me? Court an Akielon?"

"He is your equal in position. Perhaps even your superior, given—"

"Don't say it."

Auguste shrugs again. "He is not the only one with the ability to woo."

"But I am the one—" Laurent stops, realizing how ridiculous he might sound, and how likely it is Auguste will ridicule him. "Others court me."

"As others court Damianos." Auguste finishes another letter and passes it to the servant. "In fact, his tent is filled almost to the bursting with love notes and sweetmeats and fine bolts of cloth which appear to be Veretian make. I nearly tripped over a passionate poem praising Damianos' jaw—among other features--yesterday."

Damianos does have a praise-worthy jaw, and a praise-worthy neck, flowing downwards into a torso which—Laurent stops himself. This is not the point. "You've been to his tent?"

"I have." Auguste sits back in his chair to look at Laurent for the first time this evening, speculatively. "It is possible he does not know if romantic attentions would be welcome—his Veretian is excellent, but it is not his mother tongue. Seek to court him and you will learn whether your interest is reciprocated."

"But I have never had to before," Laurent says, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he realizes he is pouting. He attempts to school his expression into a less petulant arrangement, but suspects he may not succeed completely. "They come to me."

"It would seem that they do not always," Auguste says. "You may go to him, or do nothing and cease complaining now that I have provided you a perfectly serviceable solution."

"Perhaps you could—"

"I will not woo him for you by proxy," Auguste interrupts before Laurent can even fully voice the idea. "Do not seek to involve me in your schemes, little brother."

Laurent exhales noisily. "You are of no help."

"I have larger concerns than your already busy love-life," Auguste replies, utterly without compassion. "Wasn't it last week that you were complaining about Torveld?"

"That was months ago, and this situation is entirely different."

"I am sure it is," Auguste says, his tone suggesting he believes no such thing.


	7. Chapter 7

[ DAMEN ]

Damen returns to find Laurent waiting inside his tent. Laurent is looking over everything in the tent with great fascination, though he notices Damen immediately.

"Would you care for a ride?" Laurent asks in Akielon, likely oblivious to the secondary meaning for those words in a foreign language.

"I—yes," Damen says, too caught off-balance to reply with anything but the first impulse. "Let me get my horse."

* * * * *

They ride together into the sun dappled forest, both their honor guards a respectful distance away. It is the first time they've been alone—mostly--together.

Laurent is a fine rider, an impressive figure entirely laced up in a striking blue that brings out his eyes. His hair spills down his shoulder and Damen yearns to lean over, find some excuse to touch it.

Damen tries to maintain a neutral space between them, though as they make pleasant conversation, Laurent continually drifts closer--to point out a sparrow over Damen's shoulder or direct his gaze to a rare flower in the undergrowth.

Damen sighs internally; he wishes Auguste was here. Being with Auguste is easier, less fraught.

"I have enjoyed the games," Laurent says, though Damen is not entirely sure that is true. From what he observed, Laurent looked largely bored throughout. "It has been a pleasure coming to know you."

"And I you."

"Have you ever been to Arles?"

"I have not yet had the opportunity, no." Damen adds, "Though I would be very pleased to extend our nations' friendship."

"I would be happy to receive you in Arles." Laurent switches to carefully enunciated Akielon, sounding almost—shy. "Perhaps I might visit Ios in order to seek your favor?"

Damen wonders if he is misunderstanding the words, but Laurent is too intelligent to have bungled the translation that badly. "Are you--asking to court me?"

"I have read that in Akielos it is customary to state one's intentions before one begins to woo," Laurent says, switching back to Veretian. "Perhaps I read falsely—"

"No, that's—that is correct." Damen's mind is spinning, trying to think of what to do. He had not expected this, had not prepared. "I thank you for your courtesy."

"You thank me," Laurent echoes. "But you do not return my affections."

Damen is silent for a long minute, his mother's voice urging caution and compassion in his mind. "It is not a question of how I feel, unfortunately. You are a prince of Vere and I of Akielos. There is more at stake here than what I want."

Laurent lifts his chin. "Auguste will inherit. He will reign and produce heirs."

"As I must one day as well," Damen says, gently. "There is no taboo against bastardy in Akielos. My own half-brother, Kastor, was born from my father's mistress. But is that a life you could easily bear?"

"You act as if I had asked you to wed, not merely court," Laurent's voice has gone chilly. "You presume a great deal."

"I would not dare to presume anything beyond a hope that you find me in some way pleasing, whether physically or in temperament," Damen says. "But given our respective statures, I am afraid I must treat our relationship with perhaps an outsized gravity."

Laurent raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps I seek only a dalliance."

Damen looks into Laurent's eyes and feels a fierce pang of longing. "I don't think I would be able to limit myself to a dalliance with you, Prince Laurent. I am sorry."

Laurent's jaw works for a moment before he turns his horse away with a flick of his reins. "I expect we should be returning to the camp. It will be evening soon."

Damen agrees, and they ride back in silence. The last day of the games will be awkward, and he can only hope Laurent's wounded pride does not drive him to bitter or angry actions.

As Damen prepares to ride off towards his tent, Laurent stops him with a hand on his rein. "Prince Damianos," he says, quietly. "I thank you for your honesty and gracious response."

Damen executes a slightly awkward bow. "You do me great honor."

Laurent nods once, expression tightly controlled, and rides away.


	8. Chapter 8

[ AUGUSTE ]

"Your athletes competed with spirit and skill," Auguste says, clasping Prince Damianos' hand like a friend, a brother-in-arms. "As did you."

"My gratitude for your kind words," Damianos replies, in his steadily improving Veretian. "This week has been one of the best and most memorable of my life."

Laurent nods at Damianos from several feet away; no kisses on the cheek this time, Auguste notes wryly. Laurent says, with perfect politeness, "I wish you a safe journey home, Prince of Akielos."

"And you, Prince Laurent," Damianos says, nodding in kind.

"You should come to Arles," Auguste says, suddenly, impulsively. "You may meet the king our father, and I would show you our nation's capital."

Damianos' smile is bright and true. "It would be my pleasure. I must stay in Ios for the harvest festival, but afterwards, I shall have a courier send word."

"Until then," Auguste says, pleased. The Akielon forces ride off, Damianos cutting a strong figure at their head.

"No wonder he did not welcome my overtures," Laurent says. "He is already in love with you."

"The prince and I are friends. He has not come to court me either."

"That is because he does not need to. You're ready to swoon into his arms."

"Jealousy does not become you, little brother," Auguste says as they take the trail back to the fortress at Marlas. Their servants ride on ahead, leaving them with a rare moment alone.

Laurent sniffs and turns his back on Auguste, scanning the immediate surroundings for any prying eyes or ears. "I am not the one that invited him to our home and promised to receive him in state without a word to Father beforehand."

"I am merely doing my part to further diplomatic relations between our two nations," Auguste replies. "Besides, Father has been issuing invitations to the Akielon royal family for over a decade now."

"Knowing full well that King Theomedes will reject every one," Laurent replies, shrewd as ever. "But this was no empty gesture and Damianos is no Theomedes."

"No, he isn't." Auguste grows somber, his thoughts turning to more serious matters. "Tell me: did I make a mistake in inviting Damianos to the games, and to Arles, over Kastor?"

It is not the spoiled younger brother in a sulk who replies, but the keen strategist underneath which Laurent so carefully keeps hidden, "It is your choice as future king which brother you prefer to engage with."

"But you would have chosen differently."

"Damianos is a noble, good-hearted man," Laurent says, coolly, no trace of admiration in his voice. "Too noble. Kastor will move against him soon, and Damianos will likely refuse to heed any signs of discontent."

Auguste thinks of Damianos, with his trusting smile and guileless gaze, which speak to a happy, sheltered childhood. Too sheltered, perhaps. A king cannot provide a stable reign without understanding the ebbs and flows of power, the constant threats of political intrigue. "Do you have any guess as to how Kastor will move against him?"

"I haven't been able to position anyone within the Akielon palace yet," Laurent sounds profoundly unhappy, as if he considers this to be a personal failing. "My knowledge of Kastor's personal character is limited to second and third-hand reports—certainly not enough to draw any conclusions about his likely strategies. All I know for certain—which may or may not be relevant—is that Kastor has been traveling away from the capitol to meet with the Kyroi individually, and that the Queen, Damianos' mother, suffers from a wasting illness."

"Do we suspect the illness to be unnatural? She is second in the line of succession."

"It has been many years she has suffered this along with general poor health, therefore it seems unlikely," Laurent says. "It would make most sense to target Theomedes with poisoning, if anyone, and he is entirely healthy from what I hear."

"There is not enough evidence of a plot to bring to Damianos," Auguste murmurs, and at Laurent's sharp glance, adds, "And of course we cannot warn him without accusations of Veretian meddling in Akielon affairs. Do you think Damianos can triumph in the face of betrayal?"

"I do not know Kastor's abilities, though I have not heard them to be especially well-regarded," Laurent says. "Therefore, it may rest on the advisors he recruits to his cause."

"Damianos is a fierce warrior, certainly the most skilled I have ever encountered. I have no doubt he could lead an army to victory if it came to it."

"Armies in battlefields are only the smallest part of a political war," Laurent says, and Auguste inclines his head in agreement at this truth. "Regardless of who wins, internecine struggles will weaken Akielos, which may prove beneficial for Vere."

"As long as we are not drawn into it," Auguste says, finishing Laurent's unspoken thought. "Are you warning me away from friendship with Damianos?"

"I humbly submit that the die has not yet been cast, and we do not know what shall come to pass in Akielos. We must ready ourselves for any outcome in our neighboring nation."

"If I place a bet wrongly, on the basis of friendship, it is Vere that suffers." Auguste stares into the distance where Damianos' forces are but a speck on the horizon. "Therefore, I must set myself aside."

Laurent shrugs. "Damianos is the rightful heir and a great warrior, as you said. Perhaps he shall triumph. There's no harm in having a favorite as long as Vere is not seen to intervene in another sovereign nation's government."

"I am sorry he did not want—" Auguste pauses. "Perhaps he is only inclined towards women."

"That is not what I hear from rumors around camp, but it does not matter," Laurent says, riding straight-backed on his horse. "At least now I know. And given the coming storm, it is probably all for the best."

A thought occurs to Auguste. "Why did you leave Arles to come all this way, Laurent?"

"It was your job to entertain the heir of the Akielon throne with Veretian hospitality," Laurent replies. "Whereas a lazy young princeling can go where he wants, do what he likes. See if there is anything worth seeing."

"Mother suggested you come, didn't she?"

Laurent lifts one shoulder. "She mentioned it would be a shame for me to miss meeting the heir apparent of our nearest neighbor."

"As good as an order," Auguste says wryly. "She will be eager to hear your report."

"I doubt I'll have much to say that will be new to her. I've no doubt she already knows that I sought his favor and was flatly denied." Laurent's expression flickers, mouth curling down in something uncertain. "She doesn't know that—that perhaps it was not all a show."

Laurent has been fielding suitors since he was barely a boy, bending them to his whims and discarding them when bored. It is sometimes easy to forget that he, too, can be bruised by the game. "She need not know," Auguste says. Laurent makes no reply, but nods, and some of the tension releases in his jaw.


	9. Chapter 9

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER  
[ DAMEN ]

Damen makes his visit to Arles in winter, and curses himself for it.

Auguste wrote warning of climate unlike that of Akielos, and even Delfeur, located on the border as it is. He mentioned chill in the air. What he failed to describe are the bitter winds slicing through Damen's warmest garments and the ice that forms across the grounds in morning. It is horrific.

The palace itself is beautiful. Lavishly decorated, as Damen had come to expect most Veretian things to be, with meticulously kept gardens that integrate fresh snowfall into delicate landscapes along with hand-carved ice sculptures.

The King and Queen of Vere welcome him with all due ceremony of state, which drags on interminably. King Aleron is imperious and distant, watching Damen with intensity that borders on distrust.

Queen Hennike welcomes Damen in startlingly excellent Akielon. Her accent is not Veretian; he recalls that she was not born in Vere and hails from the royal family of a western kingdom. It is from her that Laurent and Auguste take their light coloring. Her voice is mild, vivid blue eyes sharp. 

Auguste greets Damen with what appears to be genuine happiness, proclaims the blossoming friendship between Akielos and Vere. Not everyone in the court is pleased with his words, shifting with narrowed eyes and low whispers.

Laurent is nowhere to be found. Damen tells himself he is relieved, and swallows the surprising twinge of disappointment.

There is a feast, fire-dancing performed by courtesans, and conversation with courtiers whose questions are daggers wrapped in colorful silk. After several hours, Damen is exhausted, feeling ill-equipped despite the hours he spent rehearsing diplomatic niceties with his mother.

Thankfully, after the first evening, the burden of hosting Damen shifts from the King and Queen to Auguste. He takes Damen on a tour of Arles, on a trip to learn a strange new sport called "skiing," and to a risqué play about a Patran prince who falls in love with his gladiator-slave. Notwithstanding the awful cold, they are exceedingly pleasant days, as Auguste is lively and entertaining company.

Laurent remains absent throughout, apparently away for a trip to the Vaskian border with Ambassador Vannes. 

Which is why Damen finds himself caught completely flatfooted when he nearly collides with Laurent one late evening in the palace library.

"Prince Laurent," Damen says, briefly at a loss for further words. He had forgotten how exquisitely beautiful Laurent is.

"Prince Damianos," Laurent replies, clutching a book to his chest. After a moment, he lowers it and takes on a more familiar, insouciant pose. "Rather late to be wandering around a strange castle, isn't it?"

"I couldn't sleep," Damen blinks. "I heard you were in Varenne."

"I was. And now my business there is concluded." Laurent sounds amused. "Monitoring my movements?"

"No, I simply—" Damen shakes his head, trying to clear it. "I had hoped to see you in order to pay my respects before the trip was over. I am glad you have returned and that I may do so."

"The fun thing about being a spare son who doesn't stand to inherit is that no one cares what I do. Except for you, apparently."

Laurent's tone is flip, but Damen can't help but answer him seriously, "Auguste cares."

"Yes, well," Laurent's expression softens. "Auguste is the good one."

"I do not think he can lay sole claim to that within your family," Damen says, and is startled to see the faintest hint of a flush in Laurent's cheek.

"I cannot remember the last instance in which anyone accused me of goodness. Recant your foul slander."

"Never, your highness." Damen takes a step back. "I shall take my leave of you now, as it is quite late and Auguste promised sparring early in the morn."

"It's not as if you need sleep to best my brother. In fact, it might be more sporting for you to stay up all night and allow him a slim chance at winning."

"You flatter me," Damen says, and blinks, wondering if Laurent is suggesting what he thinks he is suggesting.

"Do I? Sweet dreams, Prince Damianos," Laurent murmurs, body warm and surprisingly solid as he brushes past Damen.


	10. Chapter 10

[ LAURENT ]

"A good match," Laurent says, strolling over to where Damianos is standing, sword edge a few inches from Auguste's throat. "Auguste, you nearly got a hit in there."

"I'll have you know I nearly got three hits in, thank you very much," Auguste says as he takes Damianos' outstretched hand and rises to his feet. "Damianos, you are even better now than last we fought at the games. Most impressive."

Laurent retrieves Auguste's fallen blade from the ground and tests the weight of it in his palm. "Damianos, would you care for a second match?"

Damianos' eyes only widen fractionally before he catches himself. Auguste is not so tactful and says, "With you?"

"You wish a rematch? I'm happy to wait the five minutes it would take for Damianos to pound you into the dirt again," Laurent replies silkily while Auguste sputters. "Unless the prince is too tired?"

Damianos' eyebrow quirks up as he raises his blade. "It would be my honor."

Auguste walks to the side of the ring, grumbling, while Laurent and Damianos circle each other. Damianos has the height advantage, hulking broad shoulders, and a thickly muscled body honed for battle. 

He also has, from Laurent has observed, a sense of fair play. He follows rules in combat. He is merciful. Such qualities can be exploited, easily.

Laurent knows precisely where his own talents lie, and they have nothing to do with brute strength. He has superior agility, flexibility, and speed. His fighting style is also sufficiently dissimilar to Auguste's as to throw Damianos off, but that advantage will dissipate as Damianos becomes accustomed to his movements. 

Laurent has no illusions about winning. Especially not when Auguste has lost so spectacularly, repeatedly. But he has trained hard these past months, and he believes he has the skill to hold Damianos at bay—at least long enough to learn what he needs.

Damianos is helpful in this cause by moving cautiously against Laurent, studying his actions and parrying blows rather than leading an offensive charge. For a few minutes, they simply circle each other, evaluating and being evaluated.

Laurent attacks. It is a quick strike which Damianos deflects easily. Laurent tries a few more blows and finds himself grudgingly impressed; watching Damianos defeat Auguste is one thing, but having all of that focus turned onto Laurent is another.

Damianos blocks Laurent's offensive action easily, and moves into his own series of attacks, his strength putting Laurent on the defensive with hardly any exertion. Damianos is going to defeat Laurent handily, while fighting at barely a quarter of his abilities.

That will not do.

Laurent allows himself to stumble, falling to one knee. Damianos doesn't press the advantage, hanging back to allow Laurent to collect himself. Laurent feigns disorientation and kicks up a cloud of dirt, most of which lands in Damianos' face.

Damianos coughs and wheezes while Laurent stands and begins attacking again. Surprised, Damianos falls back. It takes him a few minutes to recover himself. Laurent senses the moment in which Damianos realizes what's happened and his eyes narrow with a heightened resolve.

Damianos attacks, no longer testing, but focused, intent on winning. Laurent's arms begin to ache with the impact of Damianos' sword battering against his, leg muscles hurting as Damianos attempts to knock him off balance with his relentless rain of blows. Laurent will lose and Damianos win, now that he is truly fighting; there is no doubt of that.

Laurent attempts a few more of what Damianos would surely call 'tricks': driving him backwards into other objects, tripping him, and so forth. Damianos is never disoriented for long; he merely sets his mouth in determination and redoubles his efforts.

Perhaps the Akielon prince does have a survival instinct after all.

At last, Damianos disarms Laurent, sending his sword flying to the ground ten feet away. Damianos holds the point of his own blade against Laurent's side, panting and sweating with effort. He is unfairly, distractingly gorgeous.

"I yield," Laurent says. He stands while Damianos takes a step away, nodding.

"That was hardly fighting fair," Auguste comments, not quite a chastisement, and turns to Damianos. "Your performance continues to amaze, even in the face of such—unorthodox techniques."

"I should apologize," Laurent says, savoring Damianos' expectant expression before crushing expectations. "I underestimated your abilities."

Damianos raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing about his lips. "It seems we may have both been underestimated." 

He makes a gracious exit, limping slightly from where Laurent managed a lucky hit. No blood, only a substantial bruise—but still. Laurent will take his modest victories where he can.

"Was that necessary?" Auguste asks, once Damianos is gone.

"Maybe not, but it was fun." Laurent pauses, thoughtful. "He may live to become king yet."


	11. Chapter 11

[ DAMEN ]

"The armory is down the hall," Laurent says, not looking up from the book he's reading. He's seated in a cushioned alcove in the palace library, one knee drawn up under his chin. Light from the stained glass window directly behind him filters across his high cheekbones, his lush mouth.

Now there is a dangerous thought to be having, Damen chides himself. He is here for a specific purpose, and the beauty certain Veretian princes may or may not possess is wholly irrelevant to that purpose. "Your performance in the ring—and that of Auguste—humbled me. I was hoping to engage in a less physical pursuit as I recuperate this afternoon," Damen says. "The library seemed an ideal spot."

Laurent says nothing and doesn't look away from his book.

Damen tries again. "Is it true then, that the library is your favorite room in the palace?"

"When I'm in the mood for solitude, I come here." Laurent turns a page, pointedly. "I appreciate my rare moments of quiet." 

Damen takes a deep breath. He has a mission and he must push forward, no matter how uncomfortable Laurent seems determined to make their interactions. "This is a very impressive collection. There are a number of Veretian texts I would like to read not available in Ios."

This does cause Laurent to glance up, finally, with poorly disguised disbelief. "You wish to read. In Veretian."

Make friends. Build relationships. Auguste's favor was all well and good, but Kings and future Kings could be fickle with their affections. Befriend others in the Veretian court, Damen's mother advised. 

This is proving more difficult than expected. King Aleron clearly distrusts Damen and perhaps all Akielons, period. Queen Hennike is civil but distant and impossible for Damen to read, much less befriend. Damen is making progress with individual courtiers, but the way is littered with traps and snares for the unwary.

Which leaves Laurent. Queen Egeria had been unsympathetic when Damen recounted their aborted courtship. _He will move past it_ , she said, dismissing Damen's concerns with a flick of her hand. _Make him move past it._

"Yes, I was hoping—well, I hear you are a great reader," Damen says. "I would welcome your recommendations on what Veretian philosophical texts I should start with."

"Why?" 

Damen stops. "Why what?"

"Why do you wish to read Veretian philosophical texts? Why are you asking me?" Laurent doesn't sound confused or uncomprehending; he sounds suspicious.

Damen had not prepared for this line of questioning. He falls back on the truth. "I don't know much about Veretian philosophy. I must confess that most of my reading has been focused on military history and topics associated with it, but I am hoping to broaden my mind. I thought you might have some ideas about where a novice such as I might start."

Laurent pivots in his seat, studying Damen's face intently. Before he can speak, a servant appears at the door.

"My apologies for the interruption, your highnesses," the servant says, bowing deeply. "The Queen wishes to speak with you regarding the upcoming feast, Prince Laurent. Your presence is requested in her chambers."

"I will go to her at once." Laurent snaps his book shut and leaps down from the window gracefully. "Damianos, I will think on what we have spoken of. For now, I suggest you start with Flambeau."

Damen thanks Laurent as he leaves in an imperious rustle of velvet brocade. After a painstaking search through numerous shelves, Damianos eventually locates the heavy tome in question.

It's written in an ancient dialect of Veretian and filled with obscure references to other, equally ancient works. Damen sighs, and resigns himself to several days of poring over both an Akielon-Veretian translation dictionary and an enormous, dusty book.


	12. Chapter 12

[ LAURENT ]

Nearly all the palace baths—including the ones set aside for visiting royalty--have peepholes and hidden chambers for prurient observers to watch unsuspecting bathers. The palace, and indeed, Arles itself, is rife with secret passages. As a child, Laurent devoted considerable time to exploring those hidden places.

The knowledge has proven useful on numerous occasions, and continues to provide great enjoyment as Laurent observes Damianos washing himself.

Despite stern remonstrations to himself that he would abandon this useless attraction to Damianos, Laurent cannot resist taking up the opportunity. Indulging in this impulse is a sign of weakness, of course, but what is the point of being a prince if one cannot indulge every now and again?

Laurent maneuvers within the narrow passage into an excellent vantage point to appreciate Damianos from behind. Damianos stands in the shallow end of the pool, so damnably tall that the water barely rises above his thighs, hugging the curves of his bottom like a painter's most unlikely fantasy. 

His back is thickly muscled and overlaid with dark, smooth skin that yearns to be touched. Laurent has vivid memories of Damianos shining with oil in various states of exertion. Memories he's recalled with frequent fondness (even after he told himself to cease and promptly disregarded the command).

Laurent should leave Damianos be. That is what Auguste would advise him to do. Mother would point out that the information Laurent wishes could be gathered in some other, less sexually-charged context. But Damianos is naked and wet and only a few feet away.

It takes several minutes for Laurent to undo the laces of his garments. He strips, activates the doorway, which is hidden behind a mural of a happy satyr being penetrated by a centaur, and steps silently into the bath. Damianos, distracted with scrubbing his absurdly firm stomach, notices nothing until Laurent is two feet behind him.

Damianos whips around in alarm at the same moment as Laurent announces himself with a stately, "Hello."

"Prince Laurent!" Damianos gasps, hands moving to cover his genitals. "What are you—"

"I am here to take a bath," Laurent replies, running a hand through his hair casually, noting the gratifying widening of Damianos' eyes. "Am I not allowed to clean myself within my own home?"

"Of course, but I—I was under the impression that these baths were. Private."

"Modest, Prince Damianos? You recall I watched all of—" Laurent's eyes rake over Damianos' chest, waist, and poorly concealed cock, "the games."

Damianos flushes a deep scarlet. "But that is sports!"

"If you would feel more comfortable glistening in oil rather than water, I'd be happy to summon the guard to fetch some." 

Laurent makes a lazy gesture towards the door before Damianos manages a frantic, "No! No, that is, thank you. But no."

Laurent shrugs and takes a step forward, towards Damianos. "As you wish."

Damianos moves a corresponding step back, then catches himself and takes a deep breath. "Thank you for the recommendation you gave me in the library the other day."

Laurent sighs internally. Damianos has taken on that earnest, diplomatic tone, and has no doubt resolved to take this opportunity to try to establish rapport between the two of them. Probably in service of some misguided idea about cultivating warm relations for fear of Laurent's wounded pride poisoning Auguste and Damianos' friendship. "Think nothing of it."

"I read Flambeau's treatise on the two methods through which a prince may rule and was hoping we could discuss it," Damianos says. 

Laurent blinks, momentarily shocked into stillness. "You read it?"

"Yes. He outlined quite a few interesting concepts and insights. I was curious as to your thoughts on which is more effective: to rule through fear or love?"

Laurent forces his body to relax, outwardly pretending to mull the question over. Perhaps Damianos has someone on staff who read the book for him and prepared a summary? Unlikely, given that none of his retinue speak Veretian as fluently as he. Perhaps Damianos charmed a Veretian into assisting him? None of the servants, or Laurent would have heard about it. Numerous courtiers and pets would be most eager helpmates, seek to curry favor with the handsome future king of Akielos. 

Another glance at Damianos' wide-open, expressive face convinces Laurent that this is not a man capable of such efficient guile. The mostly likely, if absurd, scenario is that Damianos actually sat down and read all seven hundred pages of Flambeau's impenetrable text.

"The most effective way of ruling combines elements of both," Laurent says. "A prince should be beloved by the common people to prevent a popular uprising. The nobles and elites should be ruled by fear, so their ambitions may be kept in check."

"You don't believe a prince can be loved by his nobility as well?"

"I believe that even when love exists, it can falter in the face of envy or ambition." Laurent watches Damianos' disbelieving expression and feels a surprising wave of pity; this is a man who truly has no idea what is coming. "One only has to look to history to see the truth of this. How many princes have been usurped by ones he thought loved him?"

"History." Damianos gives a wry little smile. "My mother often exhorts me to read and learn more from it. To my detriment, my attention is more easily drawn to other, less weighty subjects."

Laurent shifts in the water, no longer in the pleasant mood he once was. Damianos' expression has gone quiet and withdrawn. 

While Damianos is clearly attracted to Laurent, he seems firm in his resolve not to entertain any sexual engagement. Laurent entered the baths prepared to goad him into lowering his guard and succumbing to a round of enjoyably intense hate-sex, but Laurent finds that for some reason his desire to do so has dissipated.

Laurent prepares to leave when Damianos surprises him, once again, by speaking. "I will think on what you have said. It may be time for me to return more seriously to my studies and read the histories I have long shied away from." 

Laurent detects no deception, no insolence, no insincerity. Unsettled, he climbs out of the water and replies, "I would recommend it. The past can be quite instructive, I have found."


	13. Chapter 13

After hurrying out of the bath, Laurent finds himself strangely uneasy the rest of the day. He even finds it difficult to enjoy the rare dinner he has with Auguste alone; Damianos excused himself to eat with his Guard Captain, Nikandros, and the King and Queen are occupied with official state business.

"How goes tormenting Damianos?" Auguste asks.

"No one is being tormented," Laurent replies, picking listlessly at his salad.

Auguste snorts. It is most un-princely. "Then the rumor that you snuck into Damianos' private bath is untrue?"

"No, that is true. As is the fact that he read Flambeau's entire treatise on power in the last week."

"Flambeau, really?" Auguste's eyebrows go up. "I remember the first time I tried to tackle that book. After a day I gave up and found a tutor to explain it to me."

"It would seem there is some native intelligence underneath that brutish exterior." Lauren sighs. "You needn't worry about my causing a diplomatic incident. I won't be barging into any more baths."

"No?"

"Despite their tendency to walk around half-dressed, Akielons are more prudish than we'd heard," Laurent says. "He nearly fainted dead away."

Auguste laughs. "Poor Damen."

"Damen?"

"Ah, yes. That's what he prefers to be called by family and—well, friends, I suppose." 

Laurent keeps his expression blank while something unpleasant unfurls in his abdomen. "Charming. Damianos is a bit of a mouthful to call out while in the throes of ecstasy, after all."

Auguste chuckles, then leans forward across the table to peer at Laurent. "Have you grown fond of this Akielon?"

"What? No, of course not," Laurent scoffs. "As if I could ever develop feelings for that lumbering ox. I just wouldn't say no if he wanted to suck my cock."

Auguste ignores Laurent's crudeness. "A handsome, intelligent ox who reads Veretian books on philosophy."

"Literate and not physically repulsive are descriptors that could be applied to more than half the kingdom," Laurent says, feeling belligerent on this point. "I should be fucking Paschal and most of the guard by that reasoning."

"There's nothing wrong with caring enough about a person to consider their comfort, their happiness—"

"That is not the issue at all. What I have discovered today is merely that a game is not fun with an opponent who doesn't know the rules," Laurent says. "It's not worth playing, in fact."

"Maybe Damen is playing a different game altogether," Auguste says, tone softer and no longer teasing. "Do you know what rules he is playing by?"

"Stupid ones," Laurent mutters. "Honest and fair with no cheating."

"Perhaps you could try it sometime," Auguste says. "You might discover you like it."

Laurent suppresses the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's ridiculous notions and returns to his salad.


	14. Chapter 14

[ DAMEN ]

The Feast of Barbin is fast approaching, an annual Veretian holiday commemorating a military victory against an invading nation's forces. Damen's sketchy on the details; all he knows is that there'll definitely be a parade and probably a feast.

In the week leading up to it, the Veretian royal family is too busy to see him beyond the odd meal or two. He takes the opportunity to catch up on letters. Father expresses surprise that the Veretians haven't poisoned him yet, Mother urges Damen to write with caution as his mail is likely being intercepted, and Kastor sends nothing at all. The last letter, from Jokaste, answered none of Damen's queries and bore a single, terse message: _tread carefully_. But perhaps that was answer enough to his hopes for their relationship.

He also dedicates a few days to exploring the library. Laurent sent via servant a list of recommended philosophical texts aside from Flambeau, which Damen dutifully reads. Most are more modern, and, to his surprise, much easier to comprehend. The concepts all build upon Flambeau's teachings, the world of Veretian philosophical thought unlocking as if with a key.

As to Laurent himself, Damen doesn't see him. Not in the library, the baths, nor anywhere else. He tells himself that it is for the better, no matter how gorgeous that impossible prince is.

The feast-day finally comes. Damen puts on his finest himation and cloak to attend the festivities. There is military procession, with Auguste on horseback in ceremonial armor, leading the parade of troops through the streets of Arles. The men are neatly-pressed and disciplined, an impressive show of Vere's military might.

After several hours of chilly ceremonies outdoors, the feast begins indoors. It is a staggering abundance of food and wine, a cornucopia of sensuous decadence beyond anything Damen has ever experienced.

As the night progresses, everyone continues to drink while Damen switches discreetly to water. Courtiers proposition him with shocking explicitness while pets crawl into his lap and promise unheard-of carnal delights.

Damen extricates himself and makes his way to an empty balcony, ostensibly to observe the fireworks show going on behind the palace.

The balcony turns out not to be so empty.

"Glory of our ascendant battle might my ass," a familiar voice mumbles, coming from the shadowed corner of the balcony. "As if our armed forces had anything to do with winning a war against a nation crippled by an imploding economy and social upheaval."

"Prince Laurent?" Damen says.

"Ah yes, precisely the person I wanted to see on this night of all nights." Laurent steps forward, steady in spite of the pronounced slur of his words. "Before you ask: yes, I am drunk."

"I'm glad you are enjoying yourself," Damen says, uncertain if Laurent is actually enjoying himself or not. Overhead, a firework explodes in a dazzling pattern.

"What?" Laurent says.

"I said, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Damen repeats, pitching his voice louder to be heard over the revelry.

"What?"

Damen steps closer and repeats himself a third time, louder.

"Oh." Laurent has to tip his head back to meet Damen's eyes, and that's when Damen realizes they are standing less than a foot apart. "Right. Are you having a good Feast of Barbin Day?"

"Yes," Damen says. "Though I am curious how long the festivities will run."

"Until three in the morning, because that is when the last soldiers of the invading army fled, according to legend." Laurent scoffs. "Nevermind how the timeline makes no sense if that is true."

"You do not believe the legends are accurate?"

"I have read seven different historical accounts of the Battle of Barbin and not a single one of them mention this mythical three in the morning withdrawal," Laurent says. "As a matter of fact, the only thing they do agree on is how the Battle of Barbin was a relatively insignificant battle, won mostly due to blind luck and freakish weather conditions converging over bad terrain."

"Then it was not the turning point which ultimately repelled the Rylanthian invaders?"

"No, it wasn't," Laurent says, and launches into an impassioned telling of the history of Rylanthian-Veretian trade going back thirty years before the Battle of Barbin, detailing how crushing debt and social change drove the Rylanthian Empire to unpopular taxation schemes which led to trading feuds with three of its neighbors. Damen listens as Laurent outlines the nature of various political alliances amongst the nations, the particulars of a mass crop failure in Vere, and how all those forces combined to spark a terrible war which Vere won mostly due to its superior resource stockpile and strong alliances.

At the end of it all, Laurent takes a deep breath and says, "What? You're still listening?"

Damen, who'd been fascinated by Laurent's keen analysis, cocks his head to one side. "You sound surprised."

Laurent frowns. "I am. Nobody wants to hear about the socioeconomic forces which drive a state to war and eventual extinction. All they want to hear about are exciting battles."

"I do enjoy an exciting battle," Damen allows. "But I also enjoy understanding the context in which a battle takes place. One cannot fully appreciate the latter without the former."

Laurent is squinting at Damen. "Did Auguste put you up to this?"

"What?"

"Why—" Laurent put a hand on Damen's chest and pushes, not with enough force to move Damen backwards. "Why are you this overgrown? There is no need to have this much of anyone."

Damen chuckles, and finds he doesn't mind Laurent's hand resting against his pectoral, nor the way his hair shimmers beneath the fading fireworks. "I shall put the question to my mother and father. They may be able to supply a more satisfying answer than I."

"Satisfaction," Laurent murmurs, voice low. "If I were king, I would demand it."

There is something crackling between them, something dangerous. Damen can't quite tear his gaze away. "Is that something you want? To be king?"

"You are not the first to wonder if I covet my brother's throne." Laurent pauses, hand lifting from Damen's chest as he steps back. 

Damen tries to imagine what his life would be like if someone rose up and took his crown away. It would feel like theft, like betrayal. Even if it were lawful, if it were just, if it were the way of destiny that he should no longer inherit, he thinks he would feel—bereft, perhaps. Lost. Longing. "I would not judge you if you did."

Laurent stills, and looks at Damen as if seeing him for the first time. "It is treason."

"It is human," Damen says. "I would not judge you poorer for being human."

"I—" Laurent's gaze flickers away once more. "I have, at times, wondered what it would be like. To hold the fate of a nation in my grasp. To have my people see me not as a gamboling princeling, but as their lord and liege and protector. The things I might do. The changes I might make."

"You would be a noble king, I think," Damen says, words no mere flattery or obsequiousness, but a ring of truth.

"I am not my brother."

"No, and you would not rule as he will," Damen says. "Your reign would be—thoughtful. Patient and wise."

"Patient and wise." Laurent huffs a quiet laugh. "You have more faith in me than most."

Damen opens his mouth to say: _that's because I don't see a gamboling princeling. I see a thoughtful historian and philosopher. A shrewd ally and adviser._ Before he can, however, Laurent speaks again.

"In any case, this is all wild speculation predicated on a circumstance I shall never allow to come to pass." Laurent's jaw tightens. "My brother will live a long and fruitful life. He will reign, and I will stand by his side."

"Auguste is lucky to—" Damen's throat constricts for a moment as he thinks of how long it has been since he last spoke with Kastor. "Auguste is lucky to have you for a brother."

Laurent stares at Damen for a long moment. "As Akielos is lucky to have you."

"It is my birthright and my burden," Damen says. Warm memories of home wash over him. He will be happy to return to Ios at the end of the month. To see his family again. "I hope I can be half the leader my father is."

"You will be better."

Damen shakes his head. "You have not met King Theomedes. He is strong and courageous and—"

"I do not need to meet him. I know you," Laurent says, and for once it sounds as if he isn't teasing at all.

"You could come to Ios. I will introduce you to him," Damen says. "And my mother, the Queen. She would be glad to see you."

Laurent raises an eyebrow. "And Auguste, of course."

"Yes, of course," Damen says, flustered. Had he forgotten to invite Auguste as well? "Your whole family is welcome to Akielos."

The side of Laurent's mouth twitches. "I will let them know."

"Good." Damen swallows and looks away from Laurent's mouth. "Good."

"The clock strikes three." Laurent executes a bow without listing too badly. "We should retire. Or goblins will come for your soul in the night, as the legend goes."

"Anything but goblins," Damen jokes.

"Indeed," Laurent says, eyes far too serious. "Anything but."


	15. Chapter 15

[ AUGUSTE ]

"Leave us," Laurent says to the army of tailors fitting Auguste for his upcoming birthday celebration. Laurent's expression is blank. Auguste nods and the tailors depart.

"Something's happened," Auguste says, not a question.

"King Theomedes is dead. I have two sources reporting it. Hunting accident, they say, though no one can confirm that. The Akielon royal courier was dispatched six days ago and should be arriving within the hour."

Auguste sucks in a breath. "Do Father and Mother know?" Laurent nods. "No one else? None in the Akielon delegation?"

"No. Prince Damianos has no spymaster and neither do any of his close advisors."

This will have consequences for Vere, though it's impossible to say as of yet what they might be. Queen Egeria never seemed to have any appetite for war, but who knows what the next king will want. "Is Damianos behind this?"

"No," Laurent says. "On this, Mother and I agree."

"Then he will be devastated." Auguste feels his chest ache for Damen. "Do we suspect Kastor?"

"It is possible it was simply a hunting accident," Laurent says. He doesn't need to add: but not likely. "The Queen is unwell and has been for some years. It is only a matter of time before the crown is passed on, one way or another."

Auguste looks out the window. Snow has begun to fall. "We must make preparations along the border. However this plays out, we cannot be caught unawares."

"I've already notified Guion that I'll be doing a royal tour through his lands." Of course. Laurent, always three steps ahead. "The waters are too turbulent for ships to dock at Marches and Ladehors for a few months yet. I will ensure that the ports at Arran and Delfeur ready themselves to repel seaborne attacks."

Someone knocks at the door. It's Orlant, who says, "An Akielon courier has arrived."

"Thank you," Laurent says, and turns to Auguste. "You should change. Damianos will wish to speak with you."


	16. Chapter 16

[ DAMEN ]

Damen can scarcely believe it. His father, dead? Impossible. But the courier bore his mother's seal, her handwriting. The courier's voice shook as she spoke, kneeling in sorrow and regret.

"Are the horses ready?" Damen asks. Nikandros nods. "Then we go."

Nikandros departs to gather the men while Damen lingers in the palace courtyard a moment longer. There's fresh snow under his feet and the grounds are as pristine as ever, yet everything has changed. Everything is different. His father, the King, is dead.

"The road ahead will be covered in ice," a voice says from behind Damen. "Watch your step."

"Thank you." Damen turns to Laurent, clad in a high collar and fur-trimmed coat. "My courier told me you saw personally to her safe passage in the last ten miles of her journey."

Laurent inclines his head in acknowledgment. "She may stay here as long as she needs to recover."

"I will remember your warm welcome and hospitality." Damen readies himself to leave. He is needed at home, now.

"Has your half-brother sent word?"

A strange question. Damen supposes it is a well-intentioned curiosity that causes Laurent to ask. "No. I expect he is busy with preparations for the funeral. My mother has enough to handle."

"I would keep an ear out," Laurent says, almost casual. "He may surprise you yet."


	17. Chapter 17

They make brisk progress over the snowy Veretian countryside. The warm coats and garments Auguste gifted them make the trip less unpleasant than their arrival had been, and Veretian forces cleared many of the roads.

Delfeur is reached at noon, with the border anticipated at dusk. They pause to rest and send word ahead to Karthas. They're nearly in Sicyon when a courier returns, warning them away due to a contagious plague which has struck the fortress.

Damen sighs. He'd been looking forward to a bed and news from the kyros of Sicyon, Meniados, but he can't risk his men being struck down with sickness or carrying it to the capitol. They set up camp along the Akielon-Veretian border, the fortress barely visible in the distance.

"Exalted," Nikandros starts.

"Don't call me that," Damen says. "The Queen still lives."

"My apologies," Nikandros says. "Have you received word from Kastor?"

Damen swallows. "No."

"Is that not odd to you?"

"He is busy." Damen studies the map outlining their route to Ios. "There are funeral preparations, ceremonies, rituals he must plan. It is a great deal of work, especially since I am not there."

"He is busy, yes, but he couldn't find a single moment to dictate a message for you?" Nikandros is staring at Damen expectantly, and this is the last thing Damen wants to talk about.

"No," Damen says flatly. "We must focus on returning to Ios; everything else must wait. Now help me plot a course through the woods here."

Nikandros looks troubled, but does not argue.

* * * * *

Damen sleeps fitfully, mind filled with disturbing dreams of shadowy figures hovering at the edges of his periphery, unseen but felt. 

He wakes to an odd rustling outside his tent. There is the snap of a twig, barely audible, and unfamiliar footfalls surrounding his tent. He stops breathing to listen to the subtle change in the wind. Whoever moves outside is not his guard. 

He barely rolls out of bed before men invade his tent. They're dressed like bandits, not soldiers. Man after man pours into the tent, armed and ready to kill. 

Damen gets hold of his sword and cuts one down, then another, but there are so many that eventually he is overwhelmed, disarmed. He continues to fight, bare-fisted, even as he knows he cannot win against such force. His guards are probably dead; no one from the rest of his camp seems to be coming.

He expects the bandits to capture him, prepares to negotiate on behalf of the slaves and his remaining retinue. But the bandits are purposeful, their strikes aimed to kill. It does not make any sense. Why would bandits burst upon his camp in the middle of the night to kill him when they could easily take everything of value and hold him for a substantial ransom?

Damen falls to the ground, bleeding sluggishly from a wound to his side. A bandit holds a sword above his head, ready to swing down in a lethal blow, when a whizzing sound passes through the air, ending with a thump. An arrow is embedded deep in the man's chest, and multiple others fly through the tent into Damen's assailants.

Damen gets to his feet and rearms himself. He pushes his way out of the tent and into the moonlit night outside, where a figure stands holding a bow and arrow.

"Laurent?" Damen says, squinting at a familiar face, haloed in gold. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Laurent replies. "I'm saving your life."


	18. Chapter 18

"Bandits and mercenaries," Nikandros says grimly as he examines the clothing worn by the attackers. "Someone must have paid them to attack. They didn't even bother with looting."

"This makes no sense," Damen says as he kneels besides the dead body of Lykaios, grief rising in his chest. "Who would do this? Who would know we are here?"

"Your departure from Arles wasn't exactly hidden, and your traveling camp hasn't been inconspicuous," Laurent says. "It would be easy to monitor your movements throughout the borderlands."

The bandits showed no mercy, killing all the slaves and soldiers. Only Nikandros and Pallas weren't caught in the ambush because they were on a supply run for food; Sicyon has little arable land and is sparsely populated. Rations were low since the originally plotted route assumed they'd take shelter and restock at Karthas. 

Not that Damen has to worry much about restocking at this point. His retinue has been decimated.

Laurent makes his own investigation of the bandit corpses, flanked by two soldiers. Damen isn't certain of their names, but he thinks one might be something like Jart or Jant. "I have heard reports of bandits preying on unsuspecting travelers along the border," Laurent says. "They mostly steal and take captives alive for ransom or to sell into slavery. These bandits didn't bother with any of that."

"Sell into slavery?" Damen frowns. "Slaves are born into the life, raised to obey and be honored for their service. They cannot simply be kidnapped—"

"Are you so certain of that?" Laurent says. "Is every province as prosperous as Ios, as able to afford facilities to raise slaves bound to please kings? Sometimes, all that is needed is cheap labor."

"That is a monstrous idea," Damen says. "Impossible that this should go on. My father would never—Akielos would never allow such a practice to continue."

Laurent says nothing, expression shuttered.

"Perhaps the bandits were planning to kill everyone in the camp and then loot the bodies," Nikandros suggests. "Simpler than managing a bunch of hostages who might fight back."

"Perhaps," Laurent says, sounding unconvinced. "Regardless of the reason, we should leave here immediately. In case anyone else comes by to finish the job."

"We must conduct proper burials and funeral rites first," Damen says, surveying the dead bodies spread out before him. 

"This location is too exposed and there are still several hours before sunrise," Laurent says. "We can return to perform the rites in daylight when we're at less of a disadvantage."

Nikandros pulls Damen aside to say, low and in Akielon, "There's nothing but desert and shrubs for miles. No forest, no towns other than that village Pallas and I just returned from, which is at least two hours' ride away. I hate to say it, but the Veretian Prince is right. We should move now in case more are coming."

"I'm glad you agree," Laurent chimes in, with accented Akielon. "Now, if we're done sitting around like easy marks, let's get the hell out of here."


	19. Chapter 19

The closest cover lies in the shadow of Karthas. Though the Karthinian soldiers prevent them from entering yet again, Damen, Laurent, and their remaining guards make camp beside the gate and post sentries on a constant rotation. Bandits would have to be truly crazy to attack in plain view of the fortress.

Damen tries and mostly fails to sleep, his mind turning with memories of his father. The news of his death doesn't seem real, still, and a part of him hopes that when he returns to Ios he will learn this has all been some terrible joke. One with awful and unexpected consequences.

The sun that greets them is hazy, obscured by fog. They perform funeral rites and bury the bodies before returning to Karthas, where Meniados finally agrees come out.

"Damianos," Meniados says once he steps outside the gate, surrounded by a full complement of armed guards.

Damen frowns. He is not one for excessive formality, but Meniados does not even bow, though most of his soldiers do. "Meniados, what is going on? You continue to bar your prince entrance after you've been told of our attack? I understand the plague is wracking your people, but the least you could have offered is some bare hospitality to our camp."

"You haven't heard?" Meniados says, voice crisp and clear through the drizzling rain. "You have been away. Much has transpired at the court."

"My father, King Theomedes, is dead," Damen says, another rush of emotion sweeping through him. He forces his voice to steady. "That is why my journey to Ios must not be hindered any longer. I will require use of your horses and strongest soldiers."

"I'm afraid I can't give you either," Meniados replies. "Queen Egeria passed as well. Kastor sat with her on her deathbed, where she confessed a terrible truth: that you are not truly the son of Theomedes and therefore not the heir."

Damen takes a step back, mind swirling with the news. His mother dead? Disavowing his paternity? How could this be happening? "That's impossible. The reports you heard must be inaccurate. You can't believe that to be true."

"He doesn't," Laurent interjects, in Akielon. "What has Kastor paid you?"

Meniados lifts his jaw, defiant. "Kastor has been crowned King of Akielos, and I merely serve my liege as is my duty."

"And I'm the Empress of Vask," Laurent mutters.

"Kastor would not do that," Damen says. "There must be some misunderstanding. I must return to Ios to dispel this confusion."

"The King has decreed that you cannot enter Akielos," Meniados says. "He said that you would come only to incite revolution, and that you are to be exiled for the rest of your life. I cannot allow you passage through my lands."

Damen stares at Meniados, dumbfounded. "Exiled? From my own kingdom? You served under my father—how can you do this?"

"I will allow you to leave Sicyon and return to Vere. Do not come back or I shall have to use force to stop you."

"You are a traitor," Nikandros snarls, drawing his sword. "A traitor to the rightful King Damianos—"

Meniados' soldiers arm themselves, as does Pallas.

Damen readies himself for battle, though the odds are not good. Even with Laurent and his guards, they are greatly outnumbered. Not to mention Meniados has the might of the fortress behind him for easy retreat and reinforcements.

"Come now, enough of this." Laurent steps forward, voice cutting through the air sharper than any blade. "Meniados, what promises has Kastor made you? Riches? Titles? Or perhaps—land?"

Meniados' lips thin. "I do not know who you are, stranger, but I'll suffer no one speaking to me thus in my own home. Leave now, with your life. Or my soldiers will remove you in a less pleasant way."

Laurent turns his back on Meniados, casually, as if there were not weapons trained on him. He glances at Damen, Nikandros, and Pallas. "Well, you heard the man. Let's go."

"This insult to the King's honor cannot go unanswered," Nikandros starts, but Damen stops him with a hand.

"Meniados will answer for this in due time," Damen says, and meets the eyes of Meniados' fighters. "Soldiers, as your rightful king, I ask you to consider the treasonous act you will be committing if you stand against me. Loyalty to your commander must ultimately give way to duty to your nation and its sovereign. Tell your fellow soldiers and let it be known that I will return for Karthas. I will not cede my kingdom without a fight."

Some of the soldiers falter, and Meniados steps forward, expression cold. "Is this your first time in Sicyon?"

Damen blinks. "Of course not."

"And how long ago was your last visit?"

"I was a child of eleven years. I don't see what—"

"Exactly. You do not see. What do know of the people whom you claim to rule? You know nothing of our grain crop, destroyed by pestilence, or the drought, which has dogged us for seasons and dried our lakes. You know nothing of the plague that has killed all our mothers and the babies they tried to bear. Yet you come here to demand shelter, soldiers, and arms as our 'king.'" Meniados shakes his head. "Go with your Veretian bedmates and trouble yourself with 'kingship' no longer."

Damen stares at Meniados, stunned into silence, which Laurent breaks.

"Assuming Vere will have him back." Laurent gestures to his guards. "Now, let us away before someone's finger slips on a bow or more speeches begin."


	20. Chapter 20

"How could this have happened?" Damen says as they ride away from Karthas, unable to make sense of all he's heard. "Mother—the Queen—is dead? And she has disclaimed my paternity, leaving Kastor to take the throne? Has the world gone mad?"

"Exalted," Nikandros says, softly. "I'm sorry. Kastor—"

"The Queen has been ill. She must have been feverish and said things in her confusion that Kastor misheard. When I explain to him   
the mistake—"

Laurent yawns, as if profoundly bored by all this talk. "Going to Ios, are you?"

"Of course," Damen says, baffled that Laurent would even ask. "My nation needs me as its rightful ruler. Kastor is—confused."

"I suppose you're going to charge through Akielos down to Ios and demand entrance to the palace all by yourself?" Laurent says, in that same bored tone.

"Well," Damen hesitates. "I won't be by myself. I will have Nikandros and Pallas." 

Laurent says, "Ah yes, three men against the armies of Akielos. That sounds like a brilliant plan."

Damen bristles. "My armies are loyal to me. Once they hear—"

"Do you think they will know who to believe between two quarreling brothers, both with questionable claims to the throne?"

"My claim is—"

"I suppose it could work if you took a ship to Ios. The journey will be rough this time of year, and Kastor will likely set up a checkpoint at the seaport to search all the passengers and cargo," Laurent continues. "To get anywhere close to the palace, you would have to go in disguise, of course."

"Disguise?" Nikandros voices the outrage that Damen feels. "A dishonorable tactic when Damianos is the rightful heir."

"If that does not appeal and you choose to go overland, you will need an army," Laurent says. "I can help you with that. Let us ride to Breteau and we can formulate an actual plan there."

"You are impertinent," Nikandros says. "To speak to the King of Akielos in such—"

"It's okay, Nik," Damen says, because although he doesn't want to admit it, Laurent is right. His kingdom is in peril and he will need all the allies he can muster, including the Veretian royal family. That is, after all, why he went to Arles. "Laurent and I are friends, aren't we?"

"Something like that." Laurent glances over his shoulder at Damen, eyes cool and assessing, before he spurs his horse forward to catch up with his guardsmen.

* * * * *

They reach Breteau by sundown. It is a border village, and the change in terrain between Akielos and Vere is stark. Delfeur is filled with rolling green hills and populated with many small towns like Breteau, tending to farms with generous food yield that could feed the whole population of Sicyon several times over.

As they ride through the village, several people stop to stare and wave. None prostrate themselves before Laurent or cheer, as the people in Arles had.

Damen realizes, for the first time, that Laurent bears no outward accoutrements of the crown. No starburst flags, no coronet, no royal insignia. He is dressed as a nobleman, traveling the country with a modest band of guards and servants.

"Your people do not recognize you as the prince," Damen murmurs to Laurent.

"No, they don't," Laurent replies.

"You don't want them to know you?"

"They don't need to know me. I want to know them," Laurent says. "If I do not move and live as they do, how will I ever understand them?"

They take over the local inn, which has barely enough rooms to squeeze all the men in. Everyone is forced to share, including Damen. He means to split a room with Nikandros and Pallas, but Laurent commandeers the best room and informs the innkeeper that he and Damen will be sharing.

"I do not think this wise," Nikandros says in a low voice while the portly innkeeper along with her two children bustle about, getting the rooms ready. "You were attacked. I should—"

"You and Pallas can alternate guarding our door through the night," Damen says. "I do not fear Laurent."

"That's the problem," Nikandros says, but lets the matter drop.

Damen writes letters to Kastor, Jokaste, and everyone he can think of back in Ios. He writes to the kyroi, and hopes some are still loyal. As a courtesy, Laurent dispatches messengers to carry Damen's correspondence along with his own, expression inscrutable.

After a quiet dinner, everyone retires to their rooms except for Laurent's guards posted at the door of the inn.

The bedroom is decorated in a plainer and more rustic Veretian style, with a fireplace. It is warm and comfortable, welcoming after the chilly temperatures outside. Not that Delfeur's mild winters can compare to the howling snow Arles receives in the north.

There is the matter of who shall sleep in the single large bed provided, however.

"I can request a pallet—" Damen starts, but Laurent cuts him off with an impatient flick of his wrist.

"No. That will defeat the purpose of sharing this room."

"The purpose," Damen repeats, feeling as though he is missing something.

"Tomorrow morning, the men will assume we fucked," Laurent says as he sheds his coat. "They will assume the reason I saved your life and will help you raise an army is because I am madly in love with you."

"But you're not," Damen says, uncertain, "madly in love with me."

"No." Laurent begins to undo the laces down the sleeve of his jacket. There are a truly astonishing number of them. "It will be a convenient excuse for my actions. Impetuous princeling, moved by his heart and groin to do anything for the Akielon King."

"Then you will help me."

Laurent raises an eyebrow at Damen. "I said I would."

Hope begins to lift Damen's heart. "The Veretian army will ride with me to Ios."

"No." Laurent begins to unlace his other sleeve. "The government of Vere will do nothing to help either would-be heir to the Akielon throne."

"But you said—"

"I will help you. Out of lovestruck foolishness, as I said earlier," Laurent says. "The Veretian King, and by extension, Auguste, future king, cannot be seen interfering the politics of a sovereign nation. Think of what Patras or Vask will assume: that Vere will pick sides in non-Veretian conflicts."

"That Vere might even go so far as foment revolution to destabilize the ruling government of another nation," Damen says, slowly. "Then no government might be safe from Veretian meddling."

"Lucky for you I am no heir or representative of a nation. I am merely a silly young man, too heartsick to consider geopolitical consequences." Laurent finishes his sleeves and begins the laces at his neck. "I will accompany you to Fortaine where we may resupply and begin the campaign. In return, you cannot breathe a word of our arrangement to anyone—even your nearest and dearest supporters. Vere's government must not be seen involving itself in Akielos' civil war."

"I will tell no one," Damen vows. Hopefully, when this is all over, Nikandros will understand. "You have my word."

"Excellent. Otherwise the deal is off. I will take my forces and leave you where you stand." Laurent pulls off his jacket, revealing a shirt with yet more laces. For a crazy instant, Damen wants to bat Laurent's hands aside and undo the laces himself. The urge passes. 

"Then I suppose I should prepare a series of tokens. As a part of my courtship."

"Unnecessary." Laurent slips out of his shirt, completely unself-conscious—with good reason, a distracted portion of Damen's mind notes. "According to the story, you've already won me with your exotic barbarian charms."

Damen huffs a laugh despite himself. "Then how do you wish me to treat you?"

"It matters not." Laurent shrugs as he folds his shirt and begins undoing his trouser lacings. Damen looks away, suddenly warm. "What matters in the play is how desperately I feel for you. You can treat me however you'd like—with indifference or caddish insincerity or—"

"Would it not be easier to act as passionate lovers do in order to doubly reinforce the illusion?" Damen says, uneasy with the idea as it leaves his lips, but uneasier still with the idea of treating Laurent cruelly while bedding him. "If the feelings are mutual, then we may both be blind to the political implications of our relationship."

Laurent lifts one elegant eyebrow. "Are you much of an actor?"

"I will be if needed," Damen says grimly. 

"Then we are agreed." In the corner of Damen's averted eyes, Laurent steps out of his trousers. He is as naked and insouciant as he was in the baths. "Would you like to seal it with a kiss?"

Damen turns away, and tries to focus. He is a king, now, and must learn to think like one. No more can he be a prince, acting rashly on whim and his own selfish desires. "I trust your word."

"This ruse doesn't have to be a chore," Laurent says, sounding amused and languid now that negotiations are apparently over. "Perhaps a fuck to celebrate the alliance?"

Damen does not turn around to look at Laurent. Perhaps Laurent is joking, or perhaps not—either way, Damen cannot afford distractions. Cannot afford anything that could lose him his one and only current ally. "I'm afraid I'm not quite skilled enough as an actor to engage in further layers of deception. One level of simple role play may be my limit."

"As you wish. I call this side of the bed." When Damen turns around, Laurent is sliding under the covers, clad in a nightshirt and trousers. "You'd better not be a cover-hog."

"I'm not, although I may snore." Damen walks to the fireplace and stares into the blaze, which crackles every few minutes in the quiet room. "Goodnight, Laurent. And thank you." 

Damen will be awake for a while yet.


	21. Chapter 21

The morning after is—strange.

Laurent is already downstairs reviewing letters when Damen wakes. The messengers carry nothing from Ios, but do have a few missives from several days ago: condolences on the deaths of King Theomedes and Queen Egeria sent by several of the northern kyroi of Akielos. None mention Kastor, or claims about Damen's paternity; nor do they declare their allegiance one way or another. Damen's heart sinks as he reads them. This is not a bad joke or extended nightmare, but reality.

"Hello, lover," Laurent says, rising from his table to brush Damen's cheek with a pale hand—somehow more intimate than a kiss. "How did you sleep?"

Damen decides to go with truth, as this deception is already complicated enough. "Poorly. It has been a difficult few days."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Laurent says. "I hope the news I have will help."

"What news?" Damen says, leaning into Laurent, keenly aware of the wide-eyed stares of their soldiers upon them.

"There is a unit of the Veretian border patrol quartered at Fortaine," Laurent replies. "They are experts on the lands between Vere and Akielos, as well as Vere and Patras."

"If we can journey through southern Patras, we can enter Akielos through Dice and avoid direct confrontation with Meniados in Sicyon," Damen says, beginning to see, finally, the edges of Laurent's plans.

"Assuming Patras' own border patrol doesn't stop us," Nikandros says, once he's done gaping like a fish at Laurent and Damen.

"Patras has long been an ally of Akielos," Damen says.

"Which may make King Torgeir reluctant to assist in a war of succession," Nikandros says. "We may be stopped."

"Don't worry, Patras and Vere have a long-standing relationship," Laurent says. "And I've been told I can be very persuasive."

* * * * *

"Do you think it wise for us to travel back further into Veretian territory?" Nikandros asks, later, when they are alone and packing their things for the journey to Fortaine. "What if they capture us for ransom, or are working with Kastor?"

"Laurent would not do that," Damen says. He throat tightens at the thought of Kastor. 

"You know what Laurent would or would not do?" Nikandros asks. "He is eager enough to engage in dirty tricks and dishonorable tactics."

"He is merely presenting us with a variety of options, some less traditional," Damen says, even as a part of him agrees with Nikandros' assessment. A thought occurs to him. "Is it true, what Meniados said about Sicyon?"

Nikandros is quiet for a moment. "There have been troubles in that province for many years. The land is difficult, the soil too weak to farm. Meniados is quick to lay his blame and anger on an outside target."

"How did I not know that—" Damen halts. "My people suffer and I did not know."

"There is no justification for rebellion," Nikandros says. "It is treason."

"Perhaps it is not so simple," Damen says, and wonders, suddenly, what Laurent would think on this topic. "Journeying through Patras will allow us to avoid much bloodshed."

"I do not like the prospect of fighting against fellow Akielons, but all this sneaking around doesn't seem right," Nikandros says. "Do you even know why he is helping us?"

Because we are friends, is the first response to come to Damen's mind; it is not exactly true, nor false. There is something about the question that niggles at him. "You are paranoid. Now is not the time to be regarding our allies suspiciously." The singular nature of their ally doesn't need to be said.

"I am your Guard Captain and have already been derelict in my duty to protect you once," Nikandros says, back stiff. "I will not be so lax again. If that brands me paranoid, so be it."

Damen glances at Nikandros, surprised. "It wasn't your fault. That attack—no one could have expected it."

"Except for conveniently-timed Veretian allies." 

"Veretians were not behind this," Damen says. "It was an ambush made up of a mercenary force two times our size in the dead of night. They were hired by someone who wanted to wipe us out."

"I should have been there. Maybe if I had been, we wouldn't have lost as many—"

"Or maybe you would have been killed in the ambush as well. And then where would Pallas and I be?" Damen says, teasingly.

Nikandros gives a reluctant snort of laughter. "Probably dead on the field because a second wave of bandits came to finish you off while you performed funeral rites throughout the night."

Damen smiles. "Exactly."

Nikandro's smile fades. "I will not ask what you are doing with the prince of Vere, Damen. That is your personal business and no concern of mine—"

"Good," Damen says, unhappy at the prospect of blatant lies. "Please trust in my judgment, my old friend."

"And if your judgment is compromised?"

Damen sighs as he thinks of Laurent's clever, impenetrable blue eyes. "It won't come to that."


	22. Chapter 22

The journey to Fortaine is mercifully brief and uneventful. Nikandros rides towards the front of their procession, wholly focused on protecting Damen. Pallas, meanwhile, seems lost in thought, grieving the soldiers that were lost in the ambush.

Upon arriving at Fortaine, the Ambassador to Akielos, Guion, comes out to greet them and bows obsequiously to Laurent.

"Your Highness," he begins, and halts when his gaze comes to rest on Damen. "Is this—then the rumors are true?"

"That I have taken the rightful heir to the Akielon throne as my lover? Yes." Laurent replies, with the pride and defiance that one would expect from a brash young love. He is a good actor, Damen thinks. "But he is not your concern. I am here to assume control of the border patrol unit stationed here."

Guion frowns and some of the soldiers behind him shift uneasily as well. "Surely you have no need of such a humble group."

"As a prince of the realm, I may direct whatever portions of the Veretian armed forces I see fit." Laurent's gaze sweeps over the soldiers, who stumble to stand at attention, clearly unused to royal attention of any kind. "Would you deny me my right?"

"I would never dream of such a thing," Guion replies. "I merely wonder if the king is aware—"

"I don't see what my father has to do with anything," Laurent says. "Now, where is the commander?"

A young man steps forward, handsomeness hard to see with his chin jutted so high into the air. "This is Aimeric, my son," Guion says. "Aimeric, show your respect to the prince."

Aimeric gives a perfunctory bow. "Your highness."

"Gather your men and make preparations for a long journey that will likely include combat," Laurent says. "We leave in two days at first light."

"As you wish," Aimeric says curtly, bowing once more before departing.

"We shall need to restock," Laurent says, directed once more at Guion. "Do you intend for us to make camp out here?"

"Of course not," Guion replies, hastily. "Please come inside. Welcome to Fortaine."

* * * * *

A tremendous banquet is prepared for Laurent and his soldiers, with Damen, Pallas, and Nikandros the unacknowledged sources of tension in the room. They are joined by a fair amount of courtiers, including the rest of Guion's sons, of which Aimeric appears to be the youngest and surliest.

The situation is not improved by Laurent ignoring all of Guion's attempts to converse in favor of feeding Damen sweetmeats by hand. Laurent sits with one leg practically slung over Damen's thigh, and sweeps his fingertips down Damen's jaw and shoulder periodically. 

Being distracted and vaguely aroused doesn't help Damen determine how he should be acting in return—should he nuzzling Laurent's neck, feeding Laurent tiny portions of food as well? A part of Damen suspects that Laurent might bite him if he tried.

An even smaller part of Damen wonders if he'd like being bitten.

Damen decides, ultimately, to stay quiet and lean into Laurent's physical affections. The currents of Veretian politics are subtle, as his mother always said, and best observed when one is not drowning in the middle of them. This is made easier by the fact that most of the courtiers seem unaware that Damen can understand their language.

"Is it true, what they're saying about Akielos?" One of the courtiers—probably another one of Guion's seemingly endless number of children—asks Laurent in Veretian.

"The bastard son of King Theomedes has seized the throne in a coup," Aimeric says before Laurent can reply. 

"This is what always comes of bastardy," the courtier says with a mournful shake of her head. "What a tragedy." The Veretian nobles nod their heads in agreement.

"The new King claims that there are questions about the paternity of the presumptive heir as well," Guion says, with a darting glance at Damen. "Not that I'm suggesting such claims are to be believed. But it can be difficult, at a distance, to determine what the truth might be."

"I don't think there's any difficulty at all," Laurent says, tone dismissive as he runs his fingers through Damen's hair. Damen feels as though he's being groomed like a favored horse. "We dine with the rightful King of Akielos tonight. Anyone can see Damianos' birthright in his noble profile and royal manner."

"Yes, of course, your highness," Guion murmurs. "Though one might wonder if Vere is best served by involving itself with matters outside—"

"Are you thirsty, my darling?" Laurent asks Damen, in Akielon. Without waiting for an answer, he throws one fine wrist up in the air and snaps. "More wine! Our cups run dry." Which effectively puts an end to that thread of conversation as scads of servants hurry over.

Pallas, who is seated awkwardly between Guion's wife and Aimeric, attempts to strike up a conversation with Aimeric in halting Veretian. "You are young to be commanding," Pallas says, clearly trying to be complimentary.

"That's because border patrol is a nothing post and I am only a fourth-born," Aimeric replies sourly, sounding every inch the teenager he is. 

This level of vocabulary may be beyond Pallas' reach, as he doesn't reply. More likely he recognizes the tone and prudently chooses to disengage.

"I would think nothing matters more than the defense of our nation's borders," Laurent says, silky and casual. "Do you not agree?"

"Defense against what? Common bandits and highwaymen? We're practically glorified bounty hunters," Aimeric says. 

"You'd rather an invading army?" Laurent asks.

Aimeric glances at Damen. "At least there'd be something to do."

"Then you are in luck," Laurent says. "I shall have plenty for you to do."

"Like sucking your pet barbarian's cock?" Aimeric says while Guion, horrified, apologizes and makes excuses for him. Damen stares into the distance, pretending not to hear or understand.

"Another sweetmeat?" Laurent says in Akielon. Damen silently opens his mouth and cannot wait to be away from Veretian politics.


	23. Chapter 23

[ LAURENT ]

Laurent hadn't had particularly high hopes for the border patrol, but the situation is worse than he'd feared. Aimeric is young and brash, with no head for command. Under his lack of leadership, the men are untrained, undisciplined, and unmotivated. They follow orders sullenly.

The best that can be said about them is that their arms and armor are in reasonably good repair owing to an utter lack of use.

But shiny armor doesn't win wars, and watching them attempt to line up in formation is a disheartening experience. Even worse are the appalled looks on Nikandros' and Pallas' faces; Damianos manages to retain a mask of diplomatic blankness. 

"This is the army we were promised?" Nikandros murmurs to Damianos, not quietly enough for Laurent to miss.

Laurent consoles himself with the knowledge that they have been to Arles and witnessed that Vere's army is not all like this, but it is small comfort.

He runs the unit through some basic drills, with worse and worse results. They fare better in sparring. The majority are competent swordsmen and archers, and their knowledge of Vere's border terrain proves satisfactory when probed. They may be the dregs of the Veretian military (as Aimeric bitterly complained) but they are not entirely useless.

Perhaps Laurent can shape them into a proper fighting force by the time they reach Patras. His hopes are promptly dashed when Damianos pulls him aside to say, "These men are nowhere near combat ready," and launches into a thorough analysis of their weaknesses and leadership problems. 

Worst of all: Damianos is entirely correct and Laurent isn't sure he has the expertise to fix everything within the time allotted. He always knew skipping those afternoon military exercises with Father and Auguste for books would come back to bite him in the ass.

"I share your concerns. Unfortunately, the ideas I have on how to whip these men into shape would take weeks, if not months to implement." Laurent says, swallowing his pride like a physical object. "Since we do not have months, do you have any suggestions?"

Damianos is quiet for a moment. "With a week here, Nikandros and I can get them to good enough. They won't stand against any elite fighting force, but at least they'll be on the path to not disintegrating upon contact. After a week, we can resume traveling to Patras and improve along the way."

"This will prolong your absence from Ios."

"I know." Damianos swallows. "If what Meniados said is true, if Kastor truly seized the throne and exiled me due to—a misunderstanding, I must be prepared to meet his forces in battle. I hope to be able to grow my army once we reach Akielos, but the core must be strong."

"You have as long as you think you need to train these men," Laurent says. "I will speak to Aimeric."

The other problem that presents itself is Guion, one which proves persistent and insistent, especially once he learns they'll be staying at Fortaine longer than expected.

"My prince," Guion starts, dipping into a bow so low it's almost comical. "I have heard that you are planning to lead these men into Akielos."

"You heard correctly," Laurent says, on guard. Guion is a formidable politician below his simpering mask, ambitious and ruthless—not one to be underestimated, something Queen Hennike has often pointed out. 

"As the Ambassador to Akielos, I hope you understand the uncomfortable position this puts me in," Guion says. "I deal with the current Akielon government as it stands, and they may have difficulty trusting me when my own son commands a company intent on tearing said government down."

"That is a difficult position." Laurent wonders, not for the first time, if Guion knew what Kastor had planned—and hoped to profit from it. "Therefore, I think the best way to ease this conflict would be for Aimeric to resign his position immediately."

Guion's eyes widen. "Your Highness—"

"Unless you would prefer to relieve yourself of the position of Ambassador to Akielos?" 

Guion flinches, and Laurent thinks with grim satisfaction that at least this resolves the problem of Aimeric's command. Though it does beg the question of who to replace him with.

* * * * *

"You don't even like me," Nikandros says, suspiciously.

"I don't need to like you," Laurent replies calmly. "You are the best man for the captaincy."

The words have their intended effect. Nikandros' chest puffs up and he preens for a moment before catching himself. "Why are you doing this?"

"Aimeric resigned." That conversation had not been a pleasant one. "I find myself far from home with few options. I discussed with Damen how best to prepare the men for war, and who could lead them. You were the best choice."

"Damen suggested I be the one to lead Veretian troops?" 

Laurent sighs internally at Nikandros' damnably inconvenient skepticism. Time to play up the lovestruck fool persona. "No, but he mentioned your skill on numerous occasions during the conversation and I thought—" Laurent stops and casts his gaze downward, purses his lips for a few seconds. "He hasn't been sleeping well and I just—I need to do something."

Laurent glances back at Nikandros, whose expression has softened, at last. "The deaths of his parents and retinue rest heavily upon him," Nikandros says, quietly. "And he still refuses to acknowledge Kastor's betrayal."

"He feels he is alone now, though he isn't," Laurent says, treading carefully along the lines of sentiment. It's never been his strongest suit. "But if he can see that there are men loyal to him and his cause, maybe—" He considers adding something about his own personal concern for Damianos' wellbeing, but decides to hold back. Best not to strain credulity when dealing with a distrustful advisor.

"Alright," Nikandros says, sounding if not persuaded, at least not as suspicious. "I accept. For Damen."

"For Damen," Laurent echoes, the name tasting strange in his mouth.


	24. Chapter 24

That afternoon, Aimeric barges into Laurent's solar, trailed by an apologetic Jord.

"Is it true?" Aimeric says.

"Your highness—" Jord starts. Laurent gives him a look and Jord retreats outside with another deep apology.

Laurent seals a letter and pulls forth a fresh piece of paper. "You have something to say, Aimeric?" 

"I'd heard that people from Arles love playing absurd games, but you go too far," Aimeric says. "You've put a foreigner in the position to steal Veretian military secrets—"

Laurent snorts. "If the border patrol is in possession of military secrets, they are well-kept, indeed, for I have seen no evidence of anything worth stealing."

Aimeric flushes, but continues doggedly. "It's one thing to fuck a barbarian for sport, it's another to put the whole nation at risk for a piece of ass."

"What an interesting tone you use," Laurent says, not looking up from the letter he is addressing to Halvik in Vaskian. "One might almost think you weren't addressing your prince."

"A prince? Barely," Aimeric says. "When our fathers die, we stand to inherit the same amount of nothing."

"I disagree. My patch of nothing in Arles is far more impressive than your backwater nothing," Laurent says. "Plus, I get a circlet which allows me to smite my enemies and bless my friends. I wonder, Aimeric, which you would prefer to be?"

"You're going to ruin this country, princeling," Aimeric says as he leaves the solar.

Laurent sighs. None of the accusations Aimeric leveled were a surprise; there have been rumblings of doubt and discontent throughout the entire border patrol. 

That Aimeric and Jord have started fucking is an interesting new development, though.

* * * * *

"You appointed Nikandros captain," Damianos says that evening in their shared chambers.

"I did," Laurent agrees distractedly. He works one sore arm out of his jacket and winces, rubbing his shoulder, which was hit during drills earlier in the day. He readies himself for further interrogation and prepares a laundry list of reasons for why he appointed Nikandros.

There is a gentle hand on Laurent's sleeve. "Thank you," Damianos says as he helps Laurent ease his other arm out of the jacket.

"You're—you're welcome," Laurent replies, a little disoriented. Damianos' touch is very warm. As Laurent steps out of his jacket, his arm brushes against Damianos' abdomen, which is a wall of unmovable muscle. Laurent swallows as his mouth fills with saliva.

"And thank you for everything else you've done. I know you don't—you don't have to do this. Any of this." Damianos is earnest and somber and smells intoxicatingly good.

"Yes, well, we're barely getting started." Laurent fumbles with the laces on his shirt. "Thank me when we're underway and have left Vere."

"I will thank you then as well."

Laurent cannot believe his cock regularly hardens in response to a man who says things like that without sarcasm or irony. In fact, sleeping beside said man has resulted in Laurent waking up consistently earlier than he has in years, sneaking out of the room to find a place to take care of morning erections. He's been masturbating so frequently in the past few days he's beginning to chafe.

"Laurent," Damianos says, the Akielon accent on Laurent's name soft, but pronounced. "What happened to your back?"

"What?" Laurent cranes over his shoulder to survey the mottled bruises. "Oh, that. I bruise like an overripe fruit. It is unsightly but not as bad as it might first appear."

"Does it pain you?" Damianos asks when Laurent rolls out his stiff shoulder once more.

"A bit. But all will be fine in a few days."

"Have you spoken to Paschal?" 

"There is nothing to speak with Paschal about," Laurent replies. "I have no wounds."

"He gave me a salve which has been most helpful for similar injuries." Damianos fetches a small pot and returns to hover over Laurent.

"A salve? I'm fine. I've suffered far worse in sparring with Auguste, and in fact, as have you," Laurent says. "Of the two of us, you are the one that needs medical care."

Damianos shrugs, as if the bandages wrapped around his biceps, waist, and thigh were as trivial as bruising. "We must tend to our bodies in order to perform at our best. Neglect is the path to defeat."

Now Damianos is spouting Akielon aphorisms. Laurent sighs. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Get on the bed and I shall apply the salve to your back." Damianos sounds determined. 

Ah. Now Laurent begins to see the game.

He lies down, bare from the waist up. Damianos settles on the back of Laurent's thighs. Laurent relaxes his face into a pillow, wondering if this is all a thin pretense for groping which will lead to fucking—at long last—or if Damianos has so deeply repressed his desire to sleep with Laurent that he truly believes this exercise innocent. After a few minutes of Damianos applying salve in the most chaste manner possible, Laurent determines that it is, disappointingly, the latter.

Damianos' hands on Laurent do feel fantastic, however. Warm, with the right mixture of firm and gentle. They would likely feel even better on Laurent's cock, or in his ass, or any number of more interesting places.

Laurent stretches and shifts, noting with some satisfaction a particular hardening along Damianos' groin. That observation is all he gets, however, as Damianos pulls away and stands up.

"You will feel better in the morning," Damianos announces, busying himself with closing the jar of salve.

"Will I?" Laurent replies, pleasantly drowsy and aroused. 

"Yes," Damianos says, talking mostly to himself. "Yes, in the morning."

Laurent watches through half-closed eyes as Damianos makes some excuse to hurry out of the room.

There go Laurent's hopes for getting laid. A part of him wishes he'd brought a pet, or started an affair with one of the guards—a number would have been exceedingly willing, and a few might have been discreet on top of it. But that would raise inevitable complications regarding Laurent's perceived puppy love for Damianos. Better not to risk it, even if it does mean Laurent will be regretfully celibate for a while.

On the bright side, Laurent's back does feel better.


	25. Chapter 25

Under Damianos and Nikandros' leadership, the motley assortment of men shape into a company that can follow orders and hold a line. Pallas, Jord, and the rest of Laurent's honor guard help set an example to the rest of the troops. To Laurent's surprise, Aimeric also falls in as a soldier and works as hard as any other. 

Laurent had heard tales of Akielon military rigor, read books about it, and observed the surface of it last year at the games. But witnessing Damianos and Nikandros teach, command, and demand yet more from the troops is a rather different experience altogether. It is humbling.

And at the end of each evening, Damianos returns to the bedroom they share to sleep beside Laurent, no hint of touching after that impromptu salve-applying session. 

They do talk, however. Long sessions about strategy and terrain, plans and contingency plans, spiraling tangents on philosophy and culture. Damianos' already excellent fluency in Veretian increases with each day, growing to encompass highly technical terms and technologies. Laurent, in turn, practices his Akielon by speaking it with Damianos and Pallas, who humor him patiently, and with Nikandros, who does not. 

The week at Fortaine ends with a company organized enough to actually put up a fight. Guion and his entire family gather to see them off. Naturally, Aimeric gets drunk and causes a scene. He accuses someone of impugning his family's honor, which devolves into shouted challenges, which devolves further into brawling.

Laurent excuses himself, leaving Nikandros to deal with it.

There is much to do and much to plan, many variables to account for. He looks forward to seeing Auguste again; it has only been a few weeks yet Laurent misses him keenly. It's the longest he has been away from Auguste since he was a young child.

And then there is the matter of Torveld.


	26. Chapter 26

[ DAMEN ]

The men are as ready as he can make them in a week. This proves fortunate because on the way to Acquitart, the camp is once again attacked in the night.

Having learned from their mistakes, the casualties suffered are few; the nightwatch gave warning and roused the camp. They even managed to capture some of the bandits alive.

The bandits provide little new information, though they do confirm that they were hired to attack Damen's camp specifically. None of the prisoners know who hired them, as their leader was the only one who dealt with the employer directly.

Damen returns to his tent, weary but hopeful, to discover Laurent being tended by Paschal.

"You are injured," Damen says, staring with dismay at the raw, jagged wound along Laurent's abdomen.

"I am," Laurent replies, smirking thinly. His face is pale. "A true injury in this case, not merely bruising."

Damen takes a step forward and stops. "How did this happen?"

"The way these sorts of things usually do," Laurent drawls. "There was a sword. I collided with the pointy end."

"Is it serious?" 

"I'm fine." Laurent stands up, face going even paler as he does.

"Two inches to the left and you'd be dead," Paschal says. "Get back in bed."

"It's a scratch."

Damen turns to Paschal. "Is it safe for him to continue traveling?"

"The Prince should make a full recovery as long as he stays off his feet and rests," Paschal says, with a stern look at Laurent. "Exalted, as his—companion, I expect you to monitor his compliance. No training and no physical exertion. He should not be moving from the bed unless necessary."

"We are nearly to Acquitart," Laurent says. "It is ridiculous for us to stop here when—"

"We need to bury the dead and tend to the injured," Damen says. "And the prisoners say there should be no more attacks. They've lost enough men as it is."

"Because bandits never lie," Laurent says. 

"We'll post triple guard," Damen says as he takes Laurent by the arm and eases him into bed. "Our troops have come a long way from where they started. They're trained and getting more capable. Today's victory will raise morale."

Laurent huffs a breath but doesn't resist, a wince flashing across his face as he lies down. "Acquitart is less than two days away."

"It will keep."

"We have already tarried too long at Fortaine."

"Then another few days will not matter," Damen replies. "You must rest."

"Make sure he eats and drinks sufficiently," Paschal says as he withdraws. "Call me if his condition worsens."

"Let me up," Laurent says as soon as Paschal is gone, trying to rise.

Damen stops him. "No."

"He's gone. There's no need for you to act like you care anymore."

Damen blinks, startled by Laurent's words. "I'm not pretending. You need rest. Let me bring you some water."

"Since when are you so invested in my health?" 

"Since you are my only hope of reclaiming the throne." As soon as the words leave Damen's lips, he knows them to be true. Maybe he can secure the aid of King Torgeir in Patras, maybe not. And maybe he can command the allegiance of the northern kyroi on his way down to Ios, but who knows what deals might have already been struck. What threats or offers might have been made.

Laurent is staring up at Damen with a somber expression, no longer griping or joking. "It's good that you've finally realized this."

"It takes me a while, but I do learn eventually," Damen says with a sad smile. Laurent doesn't return it. "My family is dead, my kingdom turned against me. Without you, I would be all alone."

"You have a few unusually dedicated men. Your guard dog captain. That pretty soldier who swoons whenever you enter the room."

"Pallas doesn't—" Damen stops. "I am honored by their loyalty. But as you pointed out, three men is no match for the armies of Akielos. I—I thank you for everything you are doing. This endeavor endangers you as well."

Laurent inclines his head to one side. "Feeling guilty?"

Damen huffs a chuckle. "Maybe. Allow me to discharge it by seeing you back to health."

"Very well," Laurent says, assuming a more imperious tone. "I am thirsty."

Damen raises an eyebrow, but fetches a goblet of water that Laurent drains in almost one gulp. Damen forces himself to look away from the length of Laurent's porcelain throat by fetching a plate of food.

Laurent begins to eat, then shifts uncomfortably on the bed. He sticks one leg out, where his trousers are still tightly laced, and says, "Attend me."

Damen hesitates only a moment before tugging clumsily on the laces at Laurent's ankles. As he tugs, Laurent's leg rolls back and forth unhelpfully, which Damen finally remedies with a firm grip on Laurent's foot. He pauses at the feel of Laurent's skin under his palm, warm, with a network of delicate bones below. 

"You're not very good at this," Laurent observes as he holds out his other leg for attention.

"Not much practice with Veretian clothing," Damen says. "Why all of you are practically sewn in I shall never understand."

"Because it makes extracting the prize beneath that much sweeter," Laurent replies. "Would you prefer I dress in the exhibitionist Akielon style instead?"

"In Akielos, what matters is covered."

"Except when anyone bends over or encounters a light breeze or sits carelessly."

"I see you have been paying close attention," Damen says, before he can think better of it.

"That's because it is difficult to pay attention to anything else."

Damen finishes undoing the laces and takes a step back, heat rising in his face and other, lower places. "I should—" He turns away as Laurent wriggles out of his pants. "I should tell the men we'll be staying put for the time being. Excuse me."


	27. Chapter 27

"Exalted," a voice comes from behind as Damen walks through the camp.

"Yes?" Damen turns. It is Pallas. He has a small cut across his cheek but otherwise looks no worse for wear. "It is good to see that you are well."

Pallas bows, gaze trained on the ground at Damen's feet. "And you also, Exalted. I hoped to speak with you a minute."

"Of course," Damen steps to the side, taking shelter underneath a large, sturdy tree. "What's on your mind?"

"I know there is much to do but I—" Pallas drags his eyes up to meet Damen's. "I wanted to say that I am sorry for your loss. Your family. I didn't—I couldn't find the right moment to say it, earlier."

"Thank you." Damen runs the back of his hand over his eyes. "I must confess that a part of me does not believe it. No matter how many letters I read or reports I hear, I don't know if I—I won't believe it until I am back in Ios."

Pallas nods. "My own mother succumbed to illness two summers ago. Whenever I return to my home village, a part of me still expects to see her gathering olives in her skirts."

Damen nods. "Olives--you are from Mellos, then?"

"I am." The corners of Pallas' mouth turn down. "It doesn't feel the same without her. It is no longer home."

Damen wonders what the palace will feel like without father, mother—even Lykaios and the rest of his slaves. How empty it will feel. "What was she like?"

"Funny," Pallas says. "She was the funniest person I have ever known. And wise. She always said the secret to changing a mind was making someone laugh. You could slip anything in under a laugh."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman," Damen says. "And she must have been proud to have such an impressive athlete and soldier for a son."

"I hope so." Pallas' gaze drops to the ground once more, and he seems to be working up the courage to say something.

"Is there something else?"

"I do not presume to know your affairs, or those of Prince Laurent. But I wanted you to know that you never need be alone." Pallas looks up once more, and Damen recognizes the look in his eye from their night together at the games. It was barely a year ago and yet feels strange, like a different life. "I live to serve your will. If you have any need of me, Exalted."

Damen remembers their tumble, the simple pleasure and exhilaration of it. He yearns for it once more: an escape from grief, and worry, and the perplexing challenge of Laurent, waiting in their shared bed.

Laurent. A prince who has tied his fate to Damen's, risked everything including his own reputation and well-being in a foreign fight.

"Thank you," Damen says quietly. "I will keep that in mind."

Pallas bows, deeply, and Damen begins to see Laurent's point when his skirt rides up. "Exalted."


	28. Chapter 28

Over the course of several days, Damen improves in the skill of tying and untying Veretian laces. He also finds himself pouring, fetching, and doing all manner of tasks usually dealt with by slaves. Since Veretians do not keep slaves, he suggests transferring some labor to servants while helping Laurent lace up his boots.

"But I find all your personal attention terribly romantic," Laurent says, one hand smoothing over Damen's hair to rest on the back of his neck. "Besides, I think I like you on your knees."

Damen's gaze flickers to Laurent's groin, which is eye-level, as he finishes the laces. "You are presumptuous to talk to a king in this manner."

"King? I don't see any crowns here." Laurent's fingers trail back up Damen's head, tracing the path of a circlet through his curls. "Not yet, anyway."

Damen stands, catching Laurent's wrist in his hand. "If I had a crown, would you still order me around like a common servant?"

"I do believe I would." Laurent doesn't pull away from Damen's grip; instead, he moves closer. "Not because it pleases me, though it does. But because I think you like it."

There's an undeniable heat in Damen's groin at Laurent's words, his proximity, his sultry smirk. Damen can't quite think of a response, distracted by the overwhelming desire to seize Laurent and kiss him.

Someone clears his throat at the entrance to the tent. "My deepest apologies for interrupting," the man says, staring at the wall. It is one of Laurent's honor guard. "Letters for you. Also, Captain Nikandros respectfully requests the presence of the Exalted."

"Thank you, Jord," Laurent says. "Tell Nikandros he may have Damen once I'm done with him."

Jord hastily departs.

Damen runs a hand through his hair as he moves away from Laurent. He knows there are reasons he shouldn't do anything to complicate their relationship, but the reasons are getting harder and harder to remember. "I shouldn't keep Nikandros waiting."

"On the contrary, that's precisely what you should do. Who knows what rumors about your stamina might spread otherwise," Laurent says.

Damen chuckles. "Laurent."

"Damianos."

It is strange to hear his full name uttered, especially by a man he has spent the past few weeks in such intimate quarters with. Damen, he wants to say.

But when Damen looks up to speak again, Laurent has turned away, immersed in the letters Jord brought.


	29. Chapter 29

[ AUGUSTE ]

Auguste rides to Acquitart under the cover of night, disguised as a merchant traveling with caravans of goods for trade. His men are similarly outfitted on horseback. 

Laurent waits outside the gate, wearing a hooded cloak and squinting against the sunrise. "Welcome to our ancestral home," Laurent says by way of greeting. He looks tired.

"It smells just the way I remember," Auguste says, surveying the rundown castle. "Moldy and damp."

"Wait till you see what I've done with it," Laurent replies. The gate opens and the caravans proceed inside while he and Auguste head towards the back of the inner fort. 

"Is it as bad as we thought?" Auguste asks they hug, briefly and tightly. Something flickers in Laurent's expression.

"It is worse," Laurent replies as they descend into yet another one of those secret passages he adores. "There is dissent. Several of the kyroi support Kastor. He has made them promises, including fertile land."

"Then it is as we feared," Auguste says. "There will be war."

"Unless I can stop Kastor before he consolidates his power."

"You need a fighting force superior to the border patrol to do that. Take the Régiment des Dragons."

"No," Laurent says. "Vere needs its best soldiers in Delfeur and along its borders in case of attack."

"We can spare some troops for such a critical mission," Auguste says as they come to the end of the dark passageway. He motions for his bodyguards to hold position while Laurent opens the trap door.

"You have not seen the Akielon war machine at work," Laurent says. "In the past few weeks, I have observed it transform men as likely to run from danger as not into battle-ready soldiers. If this is what three Akielons separated from the rest of their forces can do, I shudder to think what carnage a united army can inflict."

"If their military is so formidable, how do you intend to defeat them with the scant resources you have now?"

"Patras," Laurent says as they emerge in a private bath. The sole occupant, Damen, starts and tries to cover himself. As if they had not seen him perform nude at the games last year.

"Laurent, who is—" Damen pauses and does a double take. "Prince Auguste? What are you doing here?"

Laurent is laughing silently, probably at Damen's shock and fumbling attempts to retain some modesty. 

"Officially, I am not here at all," Auguste says. "It would be unacceptable for the future sovereign of Vere to assist either side of an Akielon civil war."

"Yes, Laurent mentioned," Damen says as he steps out of the water and wraps himself into a towel. "It is good to see you, then. Or not."

Auguste clasps hands with Damen. "I am glad that you are alive and well. I heard about the attacks."

"I owe your brother my life twice over," Damen says. "What brings you here?"

"King Aleron has sent me to investigate why my brother has absconded with a unit of the Veretian military." 

"I already told you in my letters. I'm going to help Damen no matter what you say," Laurent directs at Auguste, playing every inch the spoiled prince. "We're in love."

"In love?" Auguste repeats. Laurent's expression doesn't waver. "Is that what this is all about?"

"Yes," Damen agrees, after a beat. "It's been a whirlwind. But I am—very lucky."

"The sex is spectacular," Laurent adds. "In case you were wondering."

"I wasn't, but am glad to hear it," Auguste says, amused. Damen says nothing, his expression growing more pinched with every passing second. "My brother's happiness is of paramount importance."

"To me as well," Damen says. He is a miserable liar—and miserable, period, as Laurent sidles close and toys with the edge of his towel. "I want you to know that I would never treat Laurent unjustly. That I care for him, and am blessed that he has taken some interest in me."

"My sweet, articulate barbarian," Laurent says, pressing a kiss to Damen's considerable bicep. "You see, Auguste? Your suspicions are without merit. He would never seek to use me for my position or resources."

Damen's comically guilty expression makes holding a stern tone difficult. Auguste coughs to cover a laugh. "Yes, I have heard much from my brother, but I am curious to hear from you, Damen. What are you planning to do?"

"I seek to regain my stolen throne. Laurent has supported me in my time of need and offered to journey with me to Bazal at great personal cost to himself," Damen says. "However, I would beg a favor of you: when you return to Arles, take Laurent with you."

This, Auguste does not expect. He sees a similar flash of surprise cross Laurent's face. "Oh?"

"Laurent has been gravely injured. Perhaps he did not remember to tell you," Damen says, diplomatic as always. "He needs to heal. He will not be able to take all the rest and care he needs on the road."

Auguste studies Damen. "You understand that the Veretian border patrol may not be willing to follow you into a foreign war without their prince in command?"

"Losing the Veretian troops will make my campaign more difficult. But nothing matters more than Laurent's safety," Damen says. His words are spoken simply, honestly. It is strategic madness to forfeit all of the advantages that Laurent's presence conveys, to go to Patras to plead for aid with nothing. And yet, Damen seems prepared to do it.

"I am almost completely recovered. Damen exaggerates," Laurent says. "I'm mobile, able to ride and walk and hold a sword."

"Historically, you have not been the best judge of your physical limits," Auguste says. He recalls Laurent at fifteen years old, knocked from his horse and stubbornly continuing on for the rest of the hunt. It wasn't until they returned to the palace in the evening that it was discovered he'd broken an arm. Laurent is wearing that same mulish expression at this instant. "Where is your injury concealed?"

Laurent says nothing. Damen sighs and gestures to his own abdomen and side. "He was cut open here and here."

"I am not a sack, liable to burst at any ungentle handling," Laurent says, unmoving. "A scratch is all."

Damen steps in front of Laurent and begins unlacing his jacket, ignoring Laurent's protests. Auguste blinks at the familiar way he touches Laurent.

With the jacket open, the layers of gauze wrapped around Laurent's waist and chest are revealed, along with a dull, brownish stain of blood underneath. With proper care, the injury should not be lethal. But if Laurent is attacked again…

"That is no scratch," Auguste says, at last.

"It looks worse than it is," Laurent mutters, but can't quite meet Auguste's eye.

"It looks better than it is," Damen says. "Auguste, please. I doubt I'll be able to convince Laurent, but maybe you can."

In his letters, Laurent refers to the situation in Akielos as 'the grand game of kings and nations.' But looking at Laurent now, Auguste can see quite clearly that this is no game to Kastor or, perhaps, to any other Akielon.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Damen. I know the King shall be pleased to hear a full accounting of the situation without any convenient omissions." Auguste glances pointedly at Laurent. "I shall have to think on what is best for Vere. My brother is an adult who may exercise his judgment, but if the king wills it, then he, too, must submit and return to Arles."

Laurent frowns while Damen bows. "I trust in your wisdom."

There is a knock at the door to the baths. "Exalted," an Akielon voice says.

"One minute, Pallas," Damen calls out, and turns to Auguste. "Will you be joining us for a banquet tonight?"

"In the interests of keeping my presence here undetected, I had best not," Auguste says. "I should return to the village. Laurent, will you escort me?"

"Of course," Laurent says with a half-bow. "Your highness."


	30. Chapter 30

[ DAMEN ]

"You've done an impressive job with the men," Auguste says as he joins Damen on the training field. He's wearing a wig and hood to conceal his identity, and most of the soldiers are too focused on their drills to pay him much mind.

"Thank you. What they needed was someone to shape and guide their potential," Damen replies. "If you're searching for Laurent, he should be back in the castle. He's probably pretending to rest while sneaking in work instead."

Auguste chuckles. "Of course he is. I actually came to see you. How are things?"

Damen glances at Auguste, uncertain how to answer the question. "To be honest, a part of me wonders when I am to wake from this surreal dream I've found myself in."

"It feels like only yesterday we were celebrating peace between our nations at Marlas."

"I know that the Veretian government cannot officially choose sides, but I wanted to thank you regardless," Damen says. "Laurent would never agree to assist me if you were against it."

Auguste waves a hand. "My brother does what he wants. What I think is incidental, if that."

"He is... strong-willed."

Auguste laughs. "That is the tactful way of putting it, yes."

They gaze out onto the field together in companionable silence.

"And how go things with you?" Damen asks. "I see you did not bring that redhead of yours."

"Oh, Ancel? No," Auguste replies wryly. "He has no desire to leave Arles for the countryside." 

"And you have no desire to bring him."

"There is that, too," Auguste concedes. "His contract is up in less than a month. I won't renew."

"I don't think he'll be happy to hear that."

"No, probably not," Auguste replies. "I doubt he'll be surprised. We were never the most compatible pairing and he's been hard at work seducing Lord Berenger these past few months. He'll land on his feet."

"Your taste runs more towards women?"

"Much more." Auguste sighs. "But bastards ruin the crop and poison the rainwater and make maidens weep in Vere, as you have no doubt heard."

"In light of what is happening in Akielos, I begin to see some of the reasoning behind it," Damen replies dryly.

"You have courted women?" At Damen's nod, Auguste continues, "Laurent says you have lain with them?"

"I have," Damen says, recalling his and Laurent's first conversation. "You have never…?"

"I haven't spent more than five minutes un-chaperoned with any woman aside from my mother since I was ten. Sometimes I wish…"  
Auguste shakes his head. "It does not matter what I wish."

"You are promised in marriage already?"

"Since I was twelve. To a princess in a kingdom to the west, contingent on her reaching her twenty-first birthday. Which should be next year."

Damen nods. "My parents hoped to arrange a match, but there was no one of suitable age in Patras, and the ambassador to Vask declared that the Empress had no interest."

"What is it like with women?"

"They are smaller, usually," Damen says, pausing to think. "Soft where men are hard. Akielon men, at least. I don't know about Veretian men…"

Auguste shoves Damen lightly. "I'll have you know that Veretian men are as strong and hard as any other."

Damen laughs and shoves Auguste back. "Defensive, I see."

"If you think I'd hesitate to kick your ass in front of your soldiers, you'd be mistaken," Auguste says, sinking into a fighting stance.

"Technically, they are all your soldiers and the only ass that would get kicked is yours," Damen replies, putting his fists up as well.

A few of the soldiers in question are looking up at them with some concern. It occurs to Damen that it may not be the wisest decision to tackle the future king of Vere to the ground. Damen lowers his fists. 

"When you come to visit me in Ios, we shall have a rematch," Damen says, with a confidence he almost feels. 

"I look forward it."

"Does your brother—" Damen clears his throat. "It never occurred to me to ask Laurent if he left behind a lover in Arles."

"He did not. Nor has he taken a pet, not since—" Auguste smiles, as if amused by a memory. "The Queen disapproves of his habits regarding pets."

"Oh?" Damen frowns. He can't imagine Laurent mistreating them.

"Three years ago, he went through six pets in as many months and dismissed them all." Auguste says. "Despite each being dismissed after a month, he paid all their year-long contracts in full. The Queen said subsidizing pets was a rather expensive hobby to take up."

Damen blinks. "That's—unexpected. He paid them to not serve him?"

"He says he paid them to go away, that bleeding heart," Auguste says, sounding fond. "I hear a couple have taken their earnings and married, or started lives elsewhere in Vere."

"Bleeding heart indeed," Damen murmurs.

"My brother is like a potato. First you have to dig it out of the ground, and clean it, and if you try to eat it raw it'll poison you," Auguste says. "But if you give a potato time to warm up, it can surprise you."

Damen tries to reconcile the image of Laurent, flawlessly beautiful, with a humble root vegetable. "I don't think he'd like that metaphor."

"Certainly not," Auguste agrees, seeming pleased with himself.

"I meant what I said, earlier." Damen takes a deep breath. "About taking him with you back to Arles. I don't think I can persuade him to leave, but you can."

Auguste glances over, expression unreadable. "This really matters to you."

Damen stares out at the men below preparing themselves for battle. "My entire retinue was slaughtered in an ambush, including those who could not defend themselves. I've received word that my most vocal supporters in Ios have mysteriously disappeared and their households have been shown no mercy."

"A move to strike fear in the heart of those that would resist."

"Exactly." Damen inhales deeply as he tries to remember the faces of treasured friends, companions. It seems impossible that he might never see them again. "Many have died already, and that number will only grow. After all the kindness Vere has shown me, I don't want to add Laurent to the count."

Auguste surprises Damen by putting a hand on his shoulder. "You are a good man, Damen. My brother was right about you."

Damen gazes back at Auguste, and wishes, for an instant, that he could ride to war with Auguste at his side. "What would you do if you were in my situation?"

Auguste takes a step back, expression somber. "Whatever it takes to regain my kingdom."


	31. Chapter 31

[ LAURENT ]

Auguste retires to an unassuming house in the outskirts of the village. 

"Little brother," he says. "I would have words with you."

Their respective bodyguards bow out of the room while Laurent strikes a nonchalant pose and says, "Old man, I have words a-plenty."

"I spoke with Damen." 

"Ah yes, Damen," Laurent puts special emphasis on the name. "Bursting in on him in the baths never fails to amuse."

"You didn't write of your injury." Auguste looks profoundly disapproving. 

"I also didn't write about the splinter I received from handling firewood, or the bruise I got from stubbing my toe," Laurent says. "I wasn't aware you'd be interested."

"I'm not joking."

"Who is joking?" Laurent replies. "There is too much at stake for me to leave. Kastor cannot be allowed to direct Akielon armies into Delfeur."

"You have successfully preserved Damen's life and brought him to the border, to Acquitart. There is no need to accompany him any further. Return with me to Arles."

"Assuming these men will follow Damianos into battle, they are not enough in numbers. For him to have a chance against Kastor, he will need Patran troops. We both know that the only way he'll get them is if I accompany him to Bazal."

"Let's assume you reach Bazal without incident. Then what? Do you expect Torveld to respond favorably to your supposed affair with Damen?"

"Torveld is not the only lever I can pull," Laurent says, hoping Auguste won't call his bluff. In truth, he isn't entirely certain what his reception in Patras might be. And assuming they do agree to commit some troops, it still might not be enough to fight through the army of a united Akielon nation. But if Auguste smells the slightest hint of doubt, he will surely send Laurent home and all of this work will be for naught. 

"And your wound?"

"I'm fine. I will be fine."

"And if you're not?" Auguste walks to the window overlooking the soldiers in formation. "You know Mother would never forgive me if you died."

"Mother understands that difficult decisions must be made," Laurent replies quietly, a surprising wave of homesickness swelling up. He does his best to swallow it back down. "She would not blame you."

Auguste closes his eyes. "Before I left, she instructed me not to be shortsighted. To see the entire game at play, not merely the pieces closest to me."

"Then let me lay out the board for you. I don't believe Kastor will stop at Delfeur," Laurent says, seizing his chance to make Auguste understand what is at stake. "Or at Chasteigne, Toutaine, or Varenne. After all, what better way to unite a divided kingdom than by becoming a conquering king, bestowing the spoils of war amongst your loyalists? What better way to distract your subjects from a questionable rise to the throne than resurrecting the grand Artesian Empire of old?"

"You think he means to conquer all of Vere." Auguste sounds disbelieving. "Impossible."

"Maybe," Laurent says. "I think he intends to try. We can repel his forces, but not without great cost. If Delfeur becomes a war zone, we lose 75% of our grain production for the next year or two, at the very least. Combine that with the ongoing Vaskian trade embargoes and the declining fishing yields along the coast--"

“And we have ourselves both war and famine at once." Auguste sighs. "I'll issue orders to begin stockpiling--well, whatever food we can get our hands on in the middle of winter."

"The Empress of Vask has agreed to reopen diplomatic ties, but I'm afraid I didn't leave a terribly good impression when I visited Skarva," Laurent says, wincing slightly at the memory. Ambassador Vannes had assured him the Empress was suspicious of all newcomers to the court and that her disdain reflected no personal ill-will towards him specifically, but he was not so sure. "Hopefully, our ambassadors will have better luck, but we can't count on that relationship warming anytime soon."

Auguste nods, and looks out the window at where the soldiers are performing drills. They look almost like professionals, under Nikandros' direction. "Mother says there will be no help coming from the west, either. There is a wave of isolationism sweeping throughout the kingdoms."

"Then we must strike now. Cut the head off the snake before its poison is ready," Laurent says, watching Auguste carefully. After years of exhortations by their mother, Auguste seems to finally be gaining some skill in concealing his emotions. Imperative to a king's survival, and yet--and yet, it is as if the carefree older brother that taught Laurent how to hunt, and hold a sword, is fading. 

Auguste continues to stare out the window. "Father believes that if it came to war, we could crush Akielos."

Father is wrong. Not that Laurent can say that aloud. "Do you agree?"

"I have fought Damen and lost. Repeatedly." Auguste's chin dips downwards as his brow furrows. "I would not want to meet him on the battlefield. If the rest of the Akielon military contains a fraction of his might--I believe we could triumph, but the losses would be great."

"If all goes according to plan, it should never come to that." The idea of Auguste falling in war is--unbearable. Laurent refuses to imagine it. Refuses to allow such a scenario to come into being.

"You have observed Damen. If he is installed to the throne, will he pick up the mantle of war where Kastor left off?"

"Despite his military prowess, he does not appear interested in conquest or expansionism. Obviously, that could change in the future, but at the moment he's most interested in claiming the Akielon throne and solidifying his support."

"And your judgment has not been colored due to your—exposure to him?"

"Colored by what? He has spurned my advances at every turn." Laurent shrugs. "He has bad taste and does not appreciate my charms."

"Laurent."

Laurent widens his eyes innocently. "Yes?" 

"Be careful," Auguste says, eyes far too serious and sad. "Torveld was one thing, but Damianos is the crown prince. His life is not wholly his own."

"Your concern is appreciated, though misplaced. I have made my own inquiries on his habits and the consensus is clear: indiscriminate and fleeting." 

"He may have his habits. But he has not come to know you yet."

Laurent chuckles, a trifle sadly. "You have a high opinion of me, Auguste, which I can assure you that no one else shares. Believe me when I say that Damianos' heart has nothing to fear from me."

Auguste turns from the window to put his hands on Laurent's shoulders. "Perhaps you can hide your quality from the rest of the world, but not from me. Be safe, Laurie. Not just for mother's sake--but for mine."

Laurent leans into the embrace and tries to draw comfort from it, the way he did when he was nine and Auguste's arms still seemed strong enough to chase all the evil in the world away. "I'll be okay, Goose. I promise."


	32. Chapter 32

[ DAMEN ]

"Is it true?" Nikandros asks, once they are alone in his quarters. When Damen doesn't reply, his lips thin. "It is true. You seek to send our only tactical advantage away over--what? A scratch?"

"He is injured," Damen replies. "Too many have died for me, and I shall not allow--"

"Many more will die regardless," Nikandros interrupts. "You think destroying all hope for our cause will stop the bloodshed? You think Kastor will miraculously come to his senses and stop slaughtering anyone who has ever known and cared about you?"

"No, I don't--" Damen turns from Nikandros, and tries to steady his breath. "How can it be that this is the calculus I must perform? How could my own brother seek to take everything from me when our father lies less than a month in the earth?"

"Damen..."

"I would have given him anything--everything he could wish for. He could have been my closest adviser, my dearest friend, my right hand." Damen can remember so clearly how he and Kastor played together in the palace as boys--had bitterness twisted inside Kastor's heart, even then? "What a strange dream this is. I feel as though any moment I should wake up, look out my bedroom window at the sea, and laugh at the absurdity of what my mind created. Betrayal by the ones I loved most, alliances with Vere, sneaking over borders--it is the stuff of a bard's cheap tavern tale, not my life."

"I know this has been difficult for you, Exalted, but you cannot continue to act as though--"

"I received word from Makedon today," Damen says. "He refuses to acknowledge Kastor as king and has pledged his armies' support to our cause."

Nikandros blinks. "That is good news. Perhaps the first good news out of Akielos in far too long."

"It is something more than a half-trained Veretian border patrol," Damen agrees. "Assuming we can make it through the treacherous mountain pass to Patras without being frozen by this damnable season, that is."

"Why Veretians choose to live in these climes willingly I will never understand," Nikandros says. "The caretaker of this ruin they call Acquitart told me there is a guide who can take us across the mountains safely. They say he is young but experienced, due to return within the week."

"Good," Damen says. "The soldiers are doing well under your guidance. Laurent chose wisely, putting you in charge."

"I live to serve," Nikandros says. "With Makedon's army, troops from Patras, and sound strategy, we may have the forces to meet Kastor yet."

"As a boy, all I dreamed of was getting the chance to prove myself in war. Of making Father proud by leading men to glorious victory." Damen chuckles, no joy in it. "I never thought it would be against my own countrymen at the head of foreign forces."

"Some of the soldiers may defect from the false king and return to you, especially now that Makedon has."

"I would have been more hopeful on that front had we not met Meniados." Damen walks to the door and peers out at the blue starburst pennant, flying proudly above the highest tower in Acquitart. "Have you observed the way the princes of Vere speak to one another? I never thought my relationship with Kastor lacking, before I saw how brothers could be."


	33. Chapter 33

[ LAURENT ]

There is much to set in motion before they leave Acquitart. Endless preparations to be made, dozens of missives to read and respond to. None of it expedited by the way Damianos and Paschal fret over his injury. But they cannot stay forever; the longer they linger, the more Kastor consolidates his power.

Laurent writes letters until the candles on his desk burn down and his fingers ache from holding a quill. Damianos is with the troops running an overnight military exercise and Laurent savors the rare evening he has to himself.

He slides into bed and catches a whiff of Damianos' distinctive odor. It is distinctly un-Veretian, without a hint of flowery perfumes. There is the smell of oil, leather and metal, all of which combines with a musk unique to Damianos. 

Laurent considers his options, then sidles closer to Damianos' pillow and pulls his cock out. He closes his eyes and wonders, idly, what Damianos is like to fuck.

Experienced, Laurent thinks, based on the rumors of Damianos' good-natured promiscuity. Confident, with a self-assured touch and the easy expectation that he will not be denied. Despite his brutish countenance, in Laurent's estimation Damianos is far likelier to be gentle than rough, sweet rather than demanding. Strange, for a future king.

Laurent strokes his cock to firmness and wonders whether Damianos has ever been fucked. If most of his experience is with women, maybe not, unless they finger him while they blow him. Laurent wonders if Damianos likes that, if he requests it. Laurent imagines squeezing that muscular ass while Damianos moans and begs for more. It would be no hardship at all.

Laurent would bring Damianos off with his hands, perhaps his mouth if he were feeling generous. Then he would flip him over and slide in, fuck into possibly virgin heat with great restraint. At least until Damianos lost his composure and groaned for Laurent to go faster, harder. Bending over the future king of Akielos. It would be magnificent.

Laurent spills neatly into a handkerchief. A pleasant fantasy, if one that seems less and less likely to be fulfilled. Damianos has no taste for deceit, doesn't take the opportunity to enjoy the fiction of their relationship despite mutual physical attraction. Laurent can't determine whether the objection is a personal one or a matter of difficult circumstances; he supposes he would not be in the mood, either, if he had been recently betrayed and disavowed by Auguste.

An impossible thought--nearly humorous in its absurdity. But perhaps that had been how Damianos had felt about Kastor before all this began.

Laurent sighs. His wound is beginning to ache in this position. He should clean himself and go to sleep. Best to get as much rest in a bed while one is available; the trek through the mountains to Patras will offer no such comforts.


	34. Chapter 34

There's a knock on the door. Laurent glances up in surprise; it's early in the morning for anyone to come calling, and Damianos is still away. "Forgive me for interrupting, your highness," Jord calls in. "There's—"

"There's something here you'll want to see," Aimeric interrupts before he can finish. 

"You may enter," Laurent says as he finishes a letter.

Jord and Aimeric enter with two chained, bedraggled captives in tow. They're clad in burlap sackcloth and torn chitons that were probably once white. Their hair is mussed, bronze Akielon skin bruised and dirtied. Whoever the prisoners are, they've clearly been living rather roughly on the road for several weeks. 

With a nudge, they fall to their knees. Their heads are bowed and they do not speak. 

"What is this?" Laurent asks.

"Two Akielon spies I found prowling around the camp," Aimeric says. 

Laurent examines his nails. "Why would spies be in Acquitart, of all places?"

"Clearly they have gained knowledge of your foolish plan to—"

"Careful." Laurent doesn’t look up from his nails. "You address your liege lord."

"Aimeric speaks rashly and knows not what he says," Jord interjects, taking a protective step forward. "We found them hiding in the camp and thought you'd wish to see them."

"Very well." Laurent turns to regard the captives. "What do you two have to say? Are you spies?"

Underneath the grubby clothes and unwashed hair are two young men of extraordinary beauty--the stuff of tedious epic poetry. They do not carry themselves like nobles, yet they look ill-prepared for a life on the run, fending for themselves. Which leaves few possibilities for their probable identities, the likeliest of which tastes abhorrent in Laurent's mouth.

One of the captives, a brunet with striking blue eyes, replies in thickly accented Veretian, "No."

"You see?" Laurent turns to Aimeric and Jord. "Not spies."

"Then why were they skulking around our encampment?" Aimeric demands. "What are two Akielons doing in Vere if not working as spies or—assassins?"

"Assassins," Laurent repeats, amused. The silent captive, fair with a mop of honey blond hair, is nearly trembling in fright, unable to look up from the ground. Blue Eyes, on the other hand—there's steel in his gaze, even if his face is soft as a courtier's.

"Perhaps not assassins," Aimeric concedes. "But spies at the very least. Has the barbarian prince been summoned yet? They may be his informants."

"That seems as implausible as everything else you've suggested," Laurent says as he dispatches a servant to fetch Damianos. "Aimeric and Jord, you are dismissed. I shall interrogate the prisoners."

"But--" Aimeric starts before Jord hushes him.

"There are guards posted right outside this door," Jord says slowly and carefully, likely for the prisoners' benefit as much as Laurent's. He and Aimeric leave--with considerable reluctance on Aimeric's part.

Once they're gone, Laurent beckons for the prisoners to stand. When neither do, he gets up from behind his desk and squats before them in order to meet their gaze. "What are you doing in Vere?"

"We..." Blue Eyes hesitates. "We leave Akielos."

"Yes," Laurent replies. "Why did you leave?"

There's another long pause as Blue Eyes glances at his companion. "Not… safe."

"For you or for him?" Laurent asks, switching from Veretian to Akielon.

Both the captives' eyes widen in surprise. Blue Eyes says nothing, and finally Honey Blond says, in Akielon, "These--ones used to live in Ios." His voice is light and lilting, the accent of a noble from the capital. Or a slave.

"Ah," Laurent says, and studies them carefully. Pleasure slaves--beautiful and educated enough to serve nobility. If their master happened to fall on the wrong side of the Kastor's coup, they would have good reason to flee.

"Please let us go," Blue Eyes says in Akielon. "We are not spies, or assassins. We simply wish to live our lives in peace."

"I believe you. But first I must know why you left," Laurent says, a half-formed idea emerging. "You do not serve the new king?"

The captives exchange panicked looks, but are spared from having to speak by Damianos' arrival. Laurent stands and takes a step back.

"What is--" Damianos stares at the two captives, an odd expression crossing his face. "You are from Ios?" he asks, in Akielon. 

Blue Eyes drops to the ground and prostrates himself before Damianos, Honey Blond following him a moment later. "These--these ones are, Exalted."

"What are your names?"

"Kallias," Blue Eyes says, responding to Damianos immediately, as one would their sovereign. He gestures to his companion, "Erasmus."

"Kallias," Damianos repeats. "You seem familiar to me. You... served in the palace?"

Damianos' slave? Laurent wonders and discards that idea immediately. No, all of them would have been purged along with the rest of Damianos' supporters. That would leave the deceased King Theomedes and Queen Egeria, whose slaves had supposedly slit their own throats in grief, and Kastor. But why would a slave of the ascendant king leave unless--

Erasmus. The blond, destined for some other master.

"What do you know of Kastor?" Laurent asks. When Kallias freezes, that tells him everything he needs to know.

"Please," Erasmus says, somehow bowing his head further with imploring grace. "These ones are not spies and do not serve anyone. All these ones wanted was to leave Ios and begin a new life."

"We're aren't going to hurt you," Damianos says, kneeling before Erasmus to touch his chin, guide his gaze upward. "I promise."

Erasmus looks at Damianos with shy wonder. He inclines into the touch, clearly dazzled. "This--this one is not afraid."

Beside him, Kallias tenses. Lovers? Completely forbidden, from what Laurent has read about slave-keeping practices in Akielos. Grounds for being cast out of a household, if not executed.

"Tell me," Damianos says, voice gentle, as if speaking to an easily spooked horse. "Who did you once serve?"

"This one was only in training silks. Awaiting the opportunity to serve--" Erasmus colors quite prettily, gaze dropping once more. "If it had pleased, this one would have been presented to Damianos-Exalted, for a First Night."

Perhaps this is why Damianos has rejected all of Laurent's advances. He only seeks the company of those who cannot--or will not--say no. Laurent had seen brief glimpses of Damianos' bed slave, Lykaios, before she was killed; she possessed a similarly quiet, self-effacing manner as Erasmus.

It reminds Laurent of Torveld. He had known in abstract, when Torveld came to court him Arles, that Patran royalty possessed slaves. It hadn't been until he'd journeyed to Bazal that he'd truly seen how many there were, confronted the horror that a man he had begun to care for thought it right to own other human beings.

"But your First Night has come and gone, I imagine," Laurent interjects in Akielon, not certain he can stomach any more of Damianos' intrigued expression.

Erasmus' face drops in shame while Kallias grows yet more tense on the floor. As if they'd committed a monstrous crime, choosing a lover of their own volition.

Damianos lowers his hand and takes a step back, glancing at Kallias as if only now realizing the nature of their relationship. "Is this true?"

"You will not be punished, nor returned to your former or intended masters. I give you my word," Laurent says before Erasmus can reply. "You must be exhausted. Orlant, please escort Kallias and Erasmus to a private chamber. See that they are fed, given the chance to bathe, and provided with fresh changes of clothing."

Erasmus rises to his feet with guileless uncertainty while Kallias glances at Damianos, then Laurent, expression guarded. Orlant removes their chains, then leads Erasmus and Kallias away.

Once they're gone, Laurent takes a seat behind his desk again. "Troubled, Damianos?"

"They are... lovers," Damianos says, sounding out the words as if they are unfamiliar. "I never thought..."

"That slaves are humans, who might have desires and dreams of their own?" Laurent suggests. "That they might fall in love and care about something beyond fulfilling the whims of their master?"

"Slaves exchange their freedom for a life of perfect treatment," Damianos says, as if reciting some oft-repeated truism. "Why would they seek--why would they leave--"

"Perhaps their lives are not so perfect as masters would like to think," Laurent says. "Or perhaps freedom is worth more than a supposedly perfect life."

Damianos looks troubled as he departs, and Laurent's mind turns back to the matter of Kallias. He must have known about Kastor's plans to seize the throne, knowledge would have given him enough time to save Erasmus from execution and flee in the chaos. If their story is true, that could make Kallias an invaluable asset, and the pair of of them precisely what the war effort needs.


	35. Chapter 35

The room Kallias and Erasmus are placed in is warm, with a banked fire and a single guard outside. Laurent visits them alone, after they have had the chance to bathe and eat. 

Gone are the dusty, unwashed wanderers, replaced by profiles elegant enough to turn the most discerning royal eye. Given several sets of clothing, Erasmus has dressed himself in a loose-fitting white ensemble reminiscent of a chiton. Kallias is wearing a severe grey, the silhouette all sharp angles.

"You have had a chance to eat and bathe?" Laurent asks in careful Akielon. His accent is heavier than he'd like, but his diction is at least clear enough to understand, given Kallias and Erasmus' nods. "Would you prefer to wear Akielon clothing? We don't have any on hand, but I can send a messenger to fetch chitons."

Erasmus shakes his head--ever demure--while Kallias replies, "These garments suit us well, thank you." He pauses, and adds with a hint of humor, "Though the laces did take some work to tie."

Laurent chuckles. "You are not the first Akielon to complain about them."

"This one thanks you," Erasmus says, eyes downcast shyly. "For your kindness and generosity. And--and for these ones' freedom."

"There is no need to thank me for that," Laurent says, quietly. "I did not free you. You freed yourselves."

A hint of a smile graces Kallias' mouth while Erasmus bows.

"Vere does not recognize the Akielons' so-called right to own another human being. Which means that within our borders, we shall not tolerate any to attempt to reclaim former slaves. If you'd like, I can make arrangements for you to join a settlement of your former countrymen who have also made their way to Vere," Laurent says. "They can assist you in whatever you want to do next, whether that's staying or traveling onward to another kingdom. If you choose to stay, there are people who can provide temporary housing and train you in the skills needed for a job."

Kallias meets Laurent's eyes, steady and resolute. "All this, I assume, in exchange for everything I know about Kastor." Erasmus blanches beside him.

"Perhaps Erasmus would enjoy a turn around the gardens," Laurent says, summoning Orlant. "They are small and it is winter, but I find a walk outside can be bracing."

Erasmus hesitates, but acquiesces at Kallias' tiny nod.

Once they are alone, Laurent asks, "Does it trouble you to betray your old master?"

Kallias' gaze is hard. "No."

"Good," Laurent replies. "While I am interested in Kastor, I also have a second proposal for you. One that will require you--and perhaps Erasmus--to take a more active role in events."


	36. Chapter 36

[ AUGUSTE ]

Auguste paces the interior of the house they'd commandeered for his stay in Acquitart. Though it is clean and the servants furnished it comfortably, he still finds himself restless in the tight confines, restricted from taking part in the military exercises happening right outside his doorstep.

A servant announces Damen's arrival, and Auguste relaxes, happy to see one of the few he can call equal and friend. A pity things cannot be as simple as that.

"You're leaving in two days?" Damen asks, and at Auguste's nod, offers his hand to clasp. "I'm going to miss having you around to spar with."

"Likewise," Auguste says, clapping Damen on the back once, warmly. "Though my brother will be available in the meanwhile. He could use the practice."

Damen's expression falls, a little. "He won't be returning to Arles with you?"

"Laurent is in love and will not be dissuaded," Auguste lies, easily. "I could no more convince the moon to cease circling the earth."

Damen looks away for a moment, and then nods. "Then I shall endeavor to be worthy of his affections and keep him safe."

He is a good man--too naïve and trusting, but time and circumstance will hopefully cure those deficiencies. It is almost a shame that his relationship with Laurent is merely a pretense. "Be gentle with my brother," Auguste says. "I know it may be hard to believe, but there lies a soft heart under that armor, and it is not as impenetrable as he would like to think."

A minute later, the brother in question strolls in, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"In a good mood, I gather," Auguste says while Laurent sprawls, wide-legged across a chair.

"What can I say?" Laurent replies, lazily. "Damen is an excellent lover."

"I see." Auguste suppresses a smile as Damen colors beside them. Akielons and their amusing prudishness. "I summoned you both here to inform you that the crown of Vere does not condone any of your actions, nor does it have any official knowledge of the events transpiring in Acquitart or Patras."

"Understood," Damen says.

"You shall not receive any official aid from Vere. However, a force of mercenaries has been inspired by your cause and chooses to join you. The leader of these mercenaries, Lazar, shall serve as part of Laurent's honor guard."

Lazar is summoned into the room, where he makes obeisance. 

"You mean he is your spy," Laurent says, eyeing him with suspicion.

"He's to protect you."

"To report back to you," Laurent corrects.

"Mayhap I'm here to both protect and report back," Lazar drawls. "Seems you'll be needing all the help you can get."

Laurent turns to Auguste, displeased. "I have Jord and Orlant."

"They're known as your men. Lazar can be your eyes and ears in camp, and inform you of the things men won't say in your guards' earshot."

Laurent frowns more deeply. "Do you not think me capable--"

"It is not a matter of your abilities," Auguste says, although that is not entirely true. For all of Laurent's cunning, he is still, in some ways, a green youth. "Lazar is a seasoned fighter and will be a great resource. Do not allow pride to cloud your judgment."

"All my men must be completely loyal to me, else--"

"He is completely loyal."

"To you," Laurent says. "Which means that if forced to choose between your orders and mine, he will follow yours."

"Then at least you shall know this going in, and can account for it in your calculations," Auguste replies calmly. "This is not negotiable. Lazar, you are excused."

Lazar bows to all in attendance and leaves, quickly.

"I, uh, thank you for your generosity," Damen says awkwardly, while Laurent continues to glare at Auguste. "The mercenaries should prove a helpful addition."

Laurent glowers for a moment more before spinning on his heel and leaving.

Auguste sighs. "That went as well as could be expected, I suppose."

"Will you dismiss Lazar?" Damen asks, and for a moment Auguste wonders if he is joking. But no, he is all in earnest.

"No," Auguste replies. "Laurent's pride is hurt, but more is at stake here than his pride. We both know that."

"Surely, if you spoke to him..."

Auguste shakes his head; Damen does not understand his point. "A future king cannot always yield to the preferences of his heart. And he must be ready to bear the weight of others' displeasure, justified or not."

Damen continues to frown, seeming unconvinced. "Perhaps I could speak with him."

"You can try," Auguste says, not holding out any particular hope for it. "I wish you luck. You'll need it when he's in a mood like this."


	37. Chapter 37

[ LAURENT ]

"Trying to meddle from hundreds of miles away," Laurent says under his breath as he slips an armored chest-piece over his head, wincing when the movement pulls at his injury. He's tempted to forbid Lazar from engaging in any sort of correspondence, but Auguste (and Mother) would find some way around that in less than a day.

A knock at the bedroom door, then Damianos' voice as he steps inside. "Laurent?"

Laurent struggles with lacing the gauntlet one-handed, then holds out his wrist. "Attend me."

Damianos dutifully begins lacing him up. "Lazar is but one man, assigned to guard your life by a concerned older brother."

"Lazar commands that purported 'mercenary force' and takes orders from Auguste, which means half of our men now take orders from my brother." At Damianos' startled reaction, Laurent huffs a laugh. "Yes, that is how many men this 'mercenary band' is composed of--enough to double our numbers."

"Your brother only wishes to help." Damianos finishes the first gauntlet and starts on the second. "Besides, we could use the troops."

"I neither need nor welcome his help," Laurent snarls. "Although I should have expected this. He still thinks of me as a child, useless without him." 

"I'm sure he doesn't--"

"When I turned thirteen, I could no longer avoid learning how to fight, no matter how distasteful I found the pursuit. I was assigned a tutor," Laurent says. "As part of my training, I engaged in timed matches with various opponents and lost ignominiously, every single one. 

"Until suddenly, I didn't. I began winning by the barest chance: a misstep there, a stumble here. For the first time in my life, I was not a martial failure, but perhaps a son the king could take pride in. Thus, a fight in front of my father and the whole court was arranged."

Damianos shifts, not seeming to like where this was going. "Laurent..."

"Yes, as you might have already guessed, my improved performance in the ring wasn't a result of my virtuosity with a blade, but the result of all my previous combatants carefully throwing their matches with me at Auguste's behest." The memory of the grass crushed beneath his knees as he fell, the smell of it in a silent, horrified crowd, the sound of King Aleron standing and leaving the arena--it makes Laurent want to retch, even now. "I was humiliated before the King, the Queen, and most of the court."

"Your brother meant well. He sought to build your confidence, to--"

"How many well-meaning tricks must I endure before he leaves me to succeed or fall on my own merits?" Laurent snaps. "How shall I ever prove myself if nothing I do has any consequence?"

"I doubt throwing a tantrum and walking out will help convince him."

Laurent jerks away from Damianos' grip. "That was a nice trick you pulled earlier, trying to convince my brother to cart me off. If you wanted me gone that badly, you could have simply asked."

"That's not why I asked."

"I wouldn't blame you if you preferred Auguste accompany your return to Akielos." Laurent feigns nonchalance as he retreats to the table for a goblet of wine. "He is a great warrior and leader of men. He would be a tremendous asset on the field beside which I, though capable, pale in comparison."

Damianos' silence says everything without saying it. Laurent takes a long drink and forces himself not to wince at the taste; he'd known, of course, in some abstract way. And yet that knowledge doesn't help.

"Auguste and I are friends. I meant no offense. Your wound is not healing as quickly as it should and--surely you do not mean to train in this condition." 

"What I mean to do is none of your concern." Laurent finishes the last of his goblet and ignores the twinge in his side.

"Re-injuring yourself in a fit of pique is not the way to reassure Auguste of your good judgment."

"I hardly think you are one to be dispensing advice on how best to handle fraternal relationships," Laurent says, wine burning like acid down his throat.

Damianos goes very still, and then takes a step back, shaking his head. "Right. Do what you want."

"I always do," Laurent says as he sweeps out of the room. The instant the door closes, he realizes he left his sword behind. And there is no way he can step back inside to retrieve it without Damianos noticing. He shall have to make do with a practice sword. He doesn't need the sword--it is mostly ceremonial, anyway--but, still.

Fuck. Fuck everything and every well-intentioned, noble, interfering one.


	38. Chapter 38

[ DAMEN ]

Veretians are all liars, schemers and deceivers, Father always said. Damen is reminded of that after watching that bizarre tableau between Laurent and Auguste. It will be a relief to be able to speak in Akielon, without having to worry about being trapped in a maze of words.

When Damen walks into the room, he discovers Kallias and Erasmus holding hands, foreheads bent together in low conversation. He only catches Erasmus saying, "Where you go, I go," before they break apart and prostrate themselves before him.

He asks them to rise, strangely uncomfortable with the pose--customary for slaves, and yet unfamiliar after months spent in Vere, where pets are forward, playful, and even demanding towards their masters. It's only when he asks them to stand so he may look upon them that they do.

Damen has never given much thought to the matter of love as it relates to slaves. He cared for them, treated them kindly as any honorable man must, but all he might have supposed was that slaves love their masters as a matter of duty. This is their purpose.

The idea that they might love others besides, might choose to express that love--is disconcerting. Damen can see it now, in the way Kallias positions himself slightly in front of Erasmus, as if to shield him. The difference in the way Erasmus looks at Damen versus the way he looks upon Kallias.

Damen wonders if Lykaios had loved someone before her death. Would he have ever known of it if she did?

He directs his attention back to Erasmus and Kallias. Washed and dressed in clean clothing of the Veretian style, he can see them as the jewels of any court, worthy of royal beds. Damen has a hazy memory of hearing Kallias perform, a baritone voice that sang war poetry, stirring the blood of everyone throughout the hall.

Damen inquires as to how they escaped, encounters startling evasiveness in their answers. It takes some questioning and piecing together, but apparently they'd stowed away on a ship, which deposited them in Mellos. There, they sought a blacksmith who could remove their golden cuffs. She'd recognized them as slaves, of course, but instead of reporting them to the kyros as escaped property, she'd referred them to an underground network of abolitionists. 

At this point, both Kallias and Erasmus balk at providing more details despite Damen's concern. That some sort of insurgent group could be operating right underneath his father's--and now his--rule is yet another unpleasant surprise. From time to time there are minor slave rebellions, occasionally aided by a misguided fanatic abolitionist, but to hear about an organized group of fanatics is--troubling. Kallias and Erasmus plead ignorance on any more details of the group, however.

"Why did you continue traveling north?" Damen asks.

After a long pause, Kallias says, "We were told that there is no slavery in Vere."

Of Ios, they had no news. They'd left shortly after King Theomedes' death, when the nation was still reeling in grief. Of Kastor's plans, Kallias says little--hesitant to speak of such things in front of Erasmus. Damen does not push.

"It is good to be among Akielons again," Damen proclaims with a smile at the conclusion of their visit. After the twisting machinations of Vere, even between friends and allies, it is refreshing to return to Akielon forthrightness.

Erasmus smiles bashfully and murmurs, "This one lives to serve."

Kallias says nothing, face blank.


	39. Chapter 39

[ LAURENT ]

"You are still angry with me," Auguste says as a servant ties a cloak around his neck. Once the servant is finished, everyone is dismissed from the room except Laurent.

Laurent doesn't reply, jaw set stubbornly.

"Lazar stays," Auguste says. "I have inspected the troops and supplies. I believe that if anyone can lead Damianos to Ios, it's you. But I refuse to leave matters to chance and an undisciplined border patrol."

Laurent's chin tilts up. "I can handle them."

Auguste sighs. "And if I were in your place, would you be content to send me off with nothing else? You would trust their ability to protect me from Kastor?" 

Laurent is silent for a moment. "I would torture and kill anyone who hurt you. If it was a foreign prince who did it, I would raze his palace to the ground and salt the earth."

"Then it is lucky for you that I'm going to live forever, eh?" Auguste ruffles Laurent's hair and chuckles at the baleful look he receives in response. "And don't think I missed what you did, by the way."

"You'll have to be a little more specific than that. I do a great many things in any given day, including eating, sleeping, and jerking off."

"Sending half the mercenaries away with those two freed slaves--does Damen know?" When Laurent does not respond, Auguste continues, "No, I expected not. I won't ask."

"Good. I had no intention of telling."

"Then I leave you with a warning, little brother: Kastor will say you are invaders. A Veretian duping a love-struck prince into bringing the advance unit of a conquering army into Ios."

"He will indeed." Laurent watches Auguste carefully. "And are we to be the advance unit? A dagger plunging itself into the heart of Akielos before the rest of Vere's forces surge across its weakened borders?"

"Veretian rule could bring stability to a land torn apart by strife and a war of succession," Auguste says, voice neutral. "It could also bring to an end the vile practice of slavery faster than your secret funding of underground abolitionist movements."

Then Laurent's secret, which he thought he'd kept hidden even from Mother, has been discovered. "The Akielons do not know the money comes from Vere."

"Good. I doubt they would take kindly to our meddling in such matters."

"How can you stand it?" Laurent thinks of Kallias, Erasmus, and dozens of other slaves he met in Patras. "To act as friends and allies, knowing there are those who live in bondage?"

"If I shunned every nation which engaged in practices I disliked, Vere would quickly have no allies at all," Auguste replies. "This includes Mother's homeland. You've heard how they treat women there."

Laurent crosses his arms over his chest. "So we're to ignore atrocities in the name of, what, better trading terms?"

"In the name of diplomacy, every nation refrains from commenting on the worst attributes of their neighbors, and receives the same courtesy in return. Thus it should appear, at least on the surface," Auguste says. "Sometimes more than words will be needed to rectify a situation. Direct action must be taken, away from the eyes of ambassadors and courts."

"Such as?"

"When you reach Ios, the bastard usurper cannot be permitted to live." Auguste sounds detached, regal. King-like. "There can be no peace so long as he does."

It is as good as a command. Laurent feels something turn in his stomach, but ignores it in favor of pressing on. "And Damianos? He would resist the conquest of his lands."

Auguste looks remote. "The crown is considering all options carefully."

"You have sparred with Damianos," Laurent says slowly. "You know his weaknesses."

"I know how he fights," Auguste agrees. "By the end of this campaign, you will know how he thinks."

"And so will Lazar," Laurent says, as understanding dawns.

The corner of Auguste's mouth pulls up. "You see? Spying on you was never the primary goal."

"Only the secondary one." Laurent retreats into glibness as the weight of ensuring Kastor's death sinks in. The prospect of Auguste arranging for Damianos to--

Auguste inclines his head to the side. "I'm sure you'll be monitoring Lazar's correspondence carefully. Do take special note of the missives from his dear aunt Abbleka. She may have some advice for where to meet friends in Bazal."

A knock on the door. It is time for Auguste to leave.


	40. Chapter 40

Auguste and Laurent step outside, where Damen is waiting. Auguste readies himself to ride away, once more hidden in the night. Though his leaving is inevitable, Laurent finds himself clinging to Auguste's embrace like a child, not quite ready to let go. If all goes according to plan, it's unclear when he will see any of his family next--perhaps not for months, seasons.

"Damen," Auguste says. "Good luck to you. Guard my brother's stubborn back."

"Thank you for everything," Damen says, clasping Auguste in a warm hug. 

"You can go now," Laurent declares as he steps away and tries to reclaim his dignity. "Good riddance."

"Remember when you used to call me Augie because you couldn't pronounce my whole name?" Auguste replies.

"Shut up, that never happened," Laurent mutters, feeling the tips of his ears heat up. "Besides, you thought you could impregnate a woman with a kiss until you were fifteen."

"That's--I didn't--" Auguste sputters. "I did not."

Damen laughs. "What Laurent means to say is that he will miss you. As will I."

"I wish I could go with you," Auguste says, seeming almost wistful. "Be safe."

"Don't get yourself foolishly killed by bandits," Laurent says.

"Don't fall off the side of a mountain," Auguste counters as he urges his horse forward.

They watch Auguste disappear into the distance. Once he's gone, Damen puts a hand on Laurent's arm. "You will be together again soon. I swear it."

Laurent leans into the touch for the briefest second before straightening. "We've wasted enough time on sentimentality. Patras awaits."


	41. Chapter 41

Nikandros looks horrified. "Surely you can't be serious. We cannot bring this, this _child_ with us."

"Nobody knew the mountains better than my father," the fifteen-year-old child in question pipes up. "I've been navigating between Vere and Patras as long as I could walk. Now he's dead, it's the most dangerous season to travel the passes, and I'm your best shot at getting your forces through. Unless you'd prefer to wander aimlessly through the snow for months."

"Nicaise is a guide for smugglers, mostly," Arnoul says, apologetic, while the boy shrugs, unrepentant. "With the border patrol spread so thinly..."

"I'm sorry your father is dead," Damianos starts. "I know what it's like--"

"I'm not," Nicaise says, flatly. "He was a mean old bastard. All he left me were gambling debts and some dumb maps. At least now I don't have to split the profits."

Laurent chuckles and Damianos turns to look at him. "What? That was funny."

"Guess you're the brains behind this sorry outfit," Nicaise directs at Laurent, sounding unimpressed. "Tell your overgrown barbarian pets that no amount of hair or muscles will protect them from dying in an avalanche, which is exactly what will happen if they're stupid enough to go without me."

"Have a care with your tone, child," Nikandros says. "Your unfortunate circumstances are no excuse for--"

Nicaise groans loudly while rolling his eyes. "Is this dancing bear the future king of Akielos?"

"No, this one is," Damianos says, sounding more amused than Nikandros.

"Fine. Then tell me if I speak too quickly for your tiny brain to understand: you. Will. Die. Without. Me." Apparently finished talking, Nicaise spins on his heel and walks away. "Find me once you decide not to commit suicide."

"Well," Damianos says, after a pause. "That was... something."

"Apologies, your majesty," Arnoul says. "He is spirited in his youth and inexperience. Unfortunately, he is also correct in his claims that no one else knows the mountain passes better than he, and certainly not in this season. His father was the only one mad enough to make trips in winter."

"I don't think we should bring a child," Nikandros says. "Even a supremely disrespectful one should not be endangered for our cause."

"There are other--older--guides. But they typically spend winter in the warmer weather of Patras, and will not return for many months," Arnoul says. "If you are content to stay until the seasons change..."

"That is not an option," Damianos says. "Though I am loathe to involve someone this young, it appears as though it cannot be helped. Let's send a small advance party into the mountains with Nicaise. They will report back to us whether his expertise lives up to his claims. If it does, the bulk of the main forces will join them in the trek. If not, we find another way."

"As you wish, Exalted," Nikandros says.

Noticing Laurent's expression, Damianos says, "What?"

"It is... a good plan," Laurent says slowly, the words surprising him more than they ought. Damianos is a competent strategist, as he should be--his time in the Akielon military surely trained him for this. Laurent really does need to stop underestimating the man.

"I'm glad you agree," Damianos says, gracious and slightly bemused. 

"Wonderful." Laurent claps his hands and looks at Nikandros. "Now, who would like to go inform our charming new guide?"

* * * * * 

"He is only a child," Pallas says, puzzled, when he receives his orders. "He cannot be that bad."

Laurent chuckles. "Oh no. He's infinitely worse."


	42. Chapter 42

The news comes late in the day; couriers have been sparser over the past few weeks and it becomes clear why: Kastor has begun sealing the borders between Akielos and Vere. There are now military checkpoints installed on all trade routes, halting travel in and out except for a small number of 'necessary goods.' The definition of such necessities seems hazy at the moment.

On top of that, Kastor has been officially crowned and Damen declared a traitor for colluding with Vere to assassinate King Theomedes and Queen Egeria. Such a baseless accusation has divided the kyroi, but the fact that any of them believe (or claim to believe) Kastor's lies is horrifying.

The last bit of news: Jokaste is pregnant with Kastor's child. They're to be wed within a month's time. It is this which causes Damen to stumble to one knee, the world seeming to spin around him. The months he'd courted her--those sly, sweet words she'd spoken against his lips--for his letters to finally be answered like this.

If the courier's words are true, if the reports from his remaining allies are true, if this is more than some terrible fever dream--then Damen has lost his family, his friends, his crown. At the command of two people he once thought loved him.

A king has no use for self-pity, Theomedes once told Damen. So Damen leaves his room in search of something to do, something to take his mind off this dizzying dark reality he's somehow found himself in. He grabs a sword and shield, locates an isolated field, and begins his exercises.

He drills until his arms throb with pain and sweat soaks through his clothing. Hours have passed, yet Damen cannot shake from his mind the image of Kastor and Jokaste together, laughing.

It isn't until he sees Pallas watching him at the edge of the clearing--likely posted there by Nikandros--that a new idea takes hold. It is a terrible one, a needless indiscretion that could upend everything, as Queen Egeria would have once cautioned him. But she's gone now, and there's no one left to hold Damen back.

"Exalted," Pallas says, making obeisance as Damen approaches. There's a familiar banked heat in his voice, reminding Damen of a night that feels like a lifetime ago. He is willing, he is handsome, and he is loyal beyond reproach--more than can be said of the man Damen is currently sharing a chaste bed with.

When Damen beckons, Pallas presses forward eagerly, answering kisses with equal force. Damen attempts to find a bedroom away from prying eyes and whispering mouths, but Acquitart isn't terribly large to begin with, and given the recent swelling of forces, all previously empty chambers have been claimed. He supposes they could find a secluded closet, but that is not what he's looking for. He wants bedplay which is fierce, and exhausting, and overwhelming--enough to send him into a dreamless slumber.

Damen's own bedroom will have to do. Laurent has been organizing the Veretian mercenaries, and is not present to smirk in judgment.

All is going well: Pallas on his hands and knees, Damen inside him--when Laurent chooses to return.

Damen freezes as Laurent steps through the door and closes it behind him. Pallas does, also. Laurent's eyes widen slightly, but his expression doesn't change otherwise.

"Please don't stop on my account," Laurent says as he approaches them without a hint of self-consciousness.

"Laurent," Damen says, voice rougher than he expects. "I can explain."

"I don't think there's much to explain." Laurent stands in front of Pallas and traces two fingers along Pallas' jaw. "Why have you ceased? Are you aiming to keep both of us in suspense?"

Damen should stop. He should withdraw and send Pallas on his way. He should not feel himself rouse further at the sound of Laurent's insolent words, the sight of Laurent toying with Pallas like a pet. He should.

"What a handsome thing you are," Laurent murmurs in Akielon. When Pallas begins to apologize, Laurent presses a finger to Pallas' lips. "I assure you there is no need for that. Is there, Damen?"

Almost against his will, Damen's hips thrust forward, prompting an open-mouthed gasp from Pallas, allowing Laurent's finger to slip in. Rather than pulling away, Pallas begins to suckle.

"How does it feel to have a future king inside you?" Laurent asks, lips curling into an insouciant smile. "Does it thrill you to serve him? To feel his royal cock split you open?"

It is filthy, what Laurent is saying, and it makes Damen harder than he can remember ever being in his entire life. It has a similar effect on Pallas, who shudders and moans as he takes more of Laurent's fingers into his mouth.

Laurent continues to speak in Akielon, his Veretian accent wrapping around obscenities like velvet. Damen loses himself to it, spills inside Pallas like an overeager boy, and sags sideways onto the bed.

"You have left him wanting," Laurent chides Damen. "Would you like to finish?"

Pallas stares up at Laurent with glassy desire and nods.

"Attend me," Laurent commands, gesturing to the laces directly over his groin. Damen watches in a stupor as Pallas attacks them clumsily, as clumsy as Damen had been several weeks before. Once the laces are sufficiently loosened, Laurent pulls out his cock, which is erect and rosy at the tip, as beautifully dangerous as the rest of Laurent himself. Damen feels his mouth water at the sight of it.

"Come here and settle yourself," Laurent says. He directs Pallas to kneel on the floor with his legs spread and hands resting on his thighs. Pallas' own dick is rigid against his stomach.

"Start with tongue," Laurent says as he guides his cock. "Slowly now, over the entire head."

Damen watches, dazed, as Laurent continues to instruct Pallas on precisely how he would like to be pleasured. Aside from the stiff length poking out of his trousers, Laurent remains dressed and seemingly unaffected. Damen's own desire stirs anew and he takes himself in hand, playing with the head according to Laurent's commands.

"Push down on it," Laurent says, eyes lifting from Pallas' bent head to meet Damen's. The blue of his gaze is nearly blotted out with pupil and utterly arresting. Damen finds himself stroking in time to Pallas' movement up and down, trapped in Laurent's merciless gaze.

"You may finish now," Laurent says and Damen groans as he ejaculates a second time.

It takes Damen a few minutes to ride out the shivery pleasure and open his eyes to the sight of Laurent thrusting inside Pallas' mouth. It is a beautiful sight, Laurent's spine curving as his hips rock forward. Pallas accepts him gladly, back ramrod straight and palms still resting on his thighs.

There's come smeared across Pallas' abdomen; apparently, he had responded to Laurent's order as well, and come untouched.

"Well done," Laurent murmurs, sounding satisfied as he strokes Pallas' hair. Damen can barely keep his eyes open long enough to watch Laurent dismiss Pallas from the room before drifting off into a heavy, dreamless slumber.

Relief. At long last.


	43. Chapter 43

There is no point in talking about what happened last night. Or indeed, thinking about it. That is what Damen tells himself, repeatedly.

Thankfully, leaving in the early morning to prepare the troops for travel provides him an easy excuse to avoid both. Their forces depart Acquitart for Patras, and Damen has never been happier to have no privacy whatsoever.

Traipsing through the mountains in winter with any kind of military force is a logistical nightmare. Narrow, winding roads and sharp ascents slow progress, making each day a long, grueling repeat of the last.

The whole camp wakes before dawn in order to eat and pack, traveling as soon as the first rays of light touch the horizon. The pace is merciless at the front of the caravan while the tail drags behind. They barely stop for lunch, reserving dinner for after nightfall in order to make the most of limited daylight.

Laurent seems unruffled, deep in his own unknowable thoughts. Nicaise dances through the snow like a foulmouthed winter sprite, darting ahead before doubling back to wait impatiently for everyone to catch up. Nikandros and Pallas are as miserable as Damen is, shivering and huffing in the thin air. 

No one is enjoying the trek--Veretians included. But to Laurent and Nikandros' credit, none of the men seem likely to desert, and discipline remains relatively high.

They sleep in communal tents, as many bodies huddled together for warmth as possible. It's not comfortable, and it isn't private, the sounds of over a dozen men's snores filling the air at all times. But it is better than dying of exposure or hypothermia.

After a long day's climb over icy rocks, Damen barely notices the feel of Laurent's silky hair against his cheek. He certainly doesn't take pleasure in curling around Laurent's firm body, nor feel any spark of heat from having Pallas at his back. Laurent's expression isn't knowing, and the last thing on Damen's mind is bedplay.


	44. Chapter 44

"Do you want a salve?" Nicaise blurts out, and everyone around the fire turns to look at him. "I have one that's good for blisters."

The target of the offer, Nikandros, looks up. "What?"

"Whatever, hair for brains." Nicaise scrambles to his feet and lobs a container. "Use it or keep limping, I don't care."

The small pot bounces off Nikandros' forehead into his lap. He stares in bewilderment as Nicaise stomps away from the fire. "What just happened?"

"Try the salve," Laurent advises. "I suspect it will help."

Nikandros opens the pot and wrinkles his nose. "This smells like someone vomited berries into a bottle of urine."

"Maybe use it tomorrow morning before you put on your boots," Damen says. "The tents are already pungent enough at night."

"Is this his idea of a practical joke?" Nikandros wonders. "Is his plan to make me smell bad enough to earn mockery?"

Damen suppresses a smile. "You think him that diabolical?"

"He is Veretian," Nikandros says, and colors immediately. "Not that--"

Laurent shrugs, seeming unbothered. "While we do wean our babies on pure lies and chicanery, I don't think that's what's happening here."

Nikandros doesn't look convinced. "I think he is still angry that I called him a child. He has tried to trip me at least three times."

"Trip you?" Damen repeats.

"He keeps popping out from behind nearby boulders, or creeping up behind me," Nikandros says. "Today he was almost constantly underfoot--it was like I couldn't walk three feet without bumping into him. I swear that one of these days I'm going to fall right off the side of the mountain."

"And he'd dive after you," Laurent murmurs while Damen snorts.

Nikandros squints suspiciously at the both of them. "What are you two muttering about?"

"How Damen will cuddle me after I rub my entire body in that delicious urine salve," Laurent says.

Nikandros stands. "Fine, keep your secrets. Perhaps I shall apply it tonight and you'll all be sorry."

After he's gone, Damen says, "I should tell him what's going on. For both their sakes."

"Don't you dare," Laurent replies. "We still have a week left of this snowy misery and where else am I going to get my entertainment?"

"My top lieutenant does not exist for your entertainment." 

"Not purely..." 

"Then perhaps you could inform Nicaise that Nikandros only lays with women," Damen suggests. "He may act more reasonably if he knows there is no hope of his affections being requited."

"Do you really think that will stop any of this?" Laurent replies, sounding amused. "Were you given to acting rationally at fifteen?"

"At that age, rationality I were total strangers. Public embarrassment and I, however..."

Laurent chuckles. "I was too shy at fifteen to make a fool of myself in public, thankfully, but it was a near thing."

"You? Shy?" Damen squints at Laurent, who'd barely stopped short of feeling him up when they first met, never mind how he commandeered their last--sexual encounter. "Forgive me if I am skeptical of this."

"We had a quartermaster at the palace--Henri, of the beautiful green eyes and yete more beautiful ass," Laurent sighs, sounding fond. "He was twice my age and happily married besides, but the way he could tame a horse--the way they would move underneath his hands--I was overcome. I couldn't utter a word around him. Could barely stand to look directly at him. I still found ways to make the poor man wildly uncomfortable, sadly."

"Without speaking or looking at him?"

"I once cut off a lock of my hair and left it on his saddle. And yes, I am fully aware now that such an act likely inspired more confusion and fear than amorous affection. I think my hope at the time was that he'd recognize it was mine. Then glean from it that he should ride me like a stallion."

Damen blinks, still not quite used to Laurent's casual frankness. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"I also composed terrible poetry, rhyming 'shining green orbs' with 'unspoken love words.'" Laurent shakes his head. "Because of my aforementioned muteness in his presence, I resorted to tormenting Auguste with readings in the garden."

"Composing poetry? That's almost Akielon of you."

"Yes, well, I was inspired in no small part of by 'Ode to the Stars meeting the Sea.'"

Damen pauses, impressed. "You've read recitative poetry from Isthima?"

"As much as I could import. I was drawn to doomed loves between enemies," Laurent smiles wryly. "Stories Akielons seem to write much more eloquently than Veretians. And with more sexually-charged imagery."

Damen laughs. "Yes, there is that."

"And what were you like at fifteen?"

"I'd perform daring feats to impress girls. In retrospect, the feats were more foolish than impressive."

"Being the crown prince wasn't enough to impress?"

Damen shrugs. "I spent many seasons in the Akielon countryside, and most of the townspeople remained unaware of my identity. This led me to desperate measures such as climbing trees to catch the attention of local girls. I still have a scar from when I fell out of a particularly tall one." He lowers his collar to point to the ragged seam along his sternum. "Scared a few years off Nikandros' life, he claims."

Laurent traces the scar with a slender finger, and Damen holds himself very still. "And when being the highest boy in the village didn't work?"

"I'd try singing. I don't have much of a voice so it might be more accurate to say I bellowed loudly in the direction of attractive strangers, hoping they'd notice me."

Laurent laughs quietly. "You brayed, as it were."

"In a dignified and princely manner." 

Laurent still hasn't removed his hand. "Was there anyone in particular who caught your eye, back in Akielos?"

"There might have been--someone," Damen says, as a memory of Jokaste surfaces. The memory had been a pleasant one, full of laughter and the sunlight on her golden hair, but it twists at his gut now. "That's all past now."

Laurent's touch moves upward to the base of Damen's throat. "There's no one waiting for you back home?"

"She--she has moved on to someone else."

Laurent's hand drops as he inclines his head to one side. "Where does one go after the heir apparent?"

"To his half-brother, the new king." Damen swallows and turns away.

Laurent catches him by the arm. "She chose wrongly."

Damen meets Laurent's somber, pale eyes and nods. He wants to believe it, to take comfort in those words. Yet all he can think is that his parents are dead, Kastor wears the crown, and Jokaste carries a baby that is not his.


	45. Chapter 45

Laurent had forgotten how dull trekking through the mountains could be. The novelty of a snow-covered vista disappears after seven consecutive days of said vista. His wound is healing, and one upside of constantly being cold and numb is the reduction in pain. After his grueling trip with Vannes over the Vaskian border, he is better prepared--both in clothing and in mental readiness--for the physical challenges. Thus freeing his mind to contemplate other questions, most of which have no satisfactory answers.

News from Patras has been spotty ever since they entered the mountain passes for obvious reasons. Though Laurent successfully placed two Veretian agents inside the palace at Bazal and recruited several informants throughout the city, the Patran royalty are extremely secretive even amongst their servants due to a long history of Vaskian infiltration. The peace treaty Torveld negotiated with Skarva seems to be holding, but Patrans are keenly aware of how temporary peacetime can be. 

Patras and Akielos have always shared a warm relationship due to their cultural similarities and centuries-long alliance, but Laurent isn't sure whether that warmth will directed at the current government, run by Kastor, or the government in exile, represented by Damianos. From informants' reports, the royal family disapproves of Kastor's actions in discrediting the rightful heir. But ruling families are not the only people one must consider; powerful advisers and factions are critical to mustering enough political will to act. Unfortunately, based on reports, others in the palace are less impressed by Damianos' blood claim and more concerned about his practical ability to reclaim the crown.

Then of course, there is the complicating factor of Laurent's own personal relationships (past, present, and future). Though reports indicate that Torveld is hardly pining away in lonely celibacy, the letters he's sent to Laurent have indicated his willingness to rekindle their relationship. It's not a thought without appeal; Torveld is charming company and a most solicitous lover--something Laurent has found himself unexpectedly lacking in the past few months. But aside from the issues it might present to his cover story with Damianos, Laurent is fairly sure that any renewal with Torveld will lead them down the same inevitable path which ended their first go round.

Laurent's uncertain what effect all this will have--if any--on King Torgeir's actions. The last few times they'd spoken, Laurent had sensed, if not outright dislike, a certain wariness. It's hard to say whether that's caused by Laurent's personal issues with Torveld, or if it's grounded in a broader diplomatic suspicion of Vere. Either way, the situation is not promising; Laurent wrote directly to the king of their imminent arrival and has yet to receive word back. For all the claims to Auguste and Damianos about his necessity on this mission to Bazal, Laurent doesn't truly know whether his presence will prove more hindrance or help.

There's also the wild card of Auguste and Mother's "assistance" in the region. Lazar's correspondence has provided no clues, and a part of Laurent wonders if he'll be wandering into a plot Mother set in motion decades ago. One of her many.

Assuming they secure some sort of support from Patras, whether in the form of troops or supplies or a hearty slap on the back, there's the question of what the best route to Ios might be. Torveld can provide assistance for overland passage in Patras, and Damianos should be able to direct them in Akielos. Hopefully, civilian casualties can be avoided, but that may depend on the opposition they face.

There is also the matter of sex--a trivial and yet annoyingly distracting matter. Ever since the encounter with Pallas, Damianos has withdrawn almost completely, speaking to Laurent only when required on matters relating to the campaign. His jittery aspect and stares at Laurent's mouth indicate he has not forgotten that evening, but he refuses to acknowledge it otherwise. It's a bizarre limbo, seeing as they spend all night cocooned together along with most of their honor guard.

Perhaps the issue is moot; there's hardly any opportunity for privacy and Akielons are finicky about hiding sex from others, as if it weren't a natural act to be engaging in. Although Laurent has noticed Lazar and Pallas sharing a blanket by the fire, so perhaps there are exceptions to that rule as well.

Too many variables. Too little certainty.

Over the ridge in the distance, Nicaise is visible, perched on a large rock with a book. He has been another surprise of this trip--wilier than expected, given his backwater origins, and a voracious reader. When Laurent first spotted him with a ragged tome, Nicaise had closed it defensively and said, "Not much to do on the mountains in between walking, is there?"

Laurent makes a point of giving Nicaise new reading material after that--things that could prove useful such as a tome on local flora and fauna, the uses of medicinal herbs. After observing Nicaise's flustered interactions with a certain captain, Laurent adds a primer on Akielon culture and a phrase-book to the mix. Nicaise never stoops to anything resembling gratitude, but Laurent does spot him reading with intense concentration later in the week.

Laurent tightens the fur-lined cloak around his neck and watches Lazar, who is chatting amiably with Pallas while keeping a discreet eye on Damianos. They will be out of the mountains soon, and Laurent will be back in contact with his network of informants; it cannot come too swiftly.


	46. Chapter 46

[ DAMEN ]

Damen must be dreaming. That is the only reason he can imagine finding himself in this position: watching Laurent fuck Pallas.

Laurent is behind Pallas on the bed, petting his hair as he thrusts forward rhythmically. "Very good. This is where you belong, isn't it? On your knees with my cock buried inside you."

Pallas moans in agreement and Damen feels a surge of envy. Damen imagines what it would be like to have Laurent's cock in his mouth, that silky skin gone pink, those blue eyes warm with approval. Wonders what it would be like to have Laurent thick and hard inside him, piercing him.

Imagines Laurent saying, "Attend me," and smiling when Damen drops to his knees. Damen closes his eyes--

\--and opens them to a particular damp in his trousers. It's uncomfortable--in more ways than one.

Beside him, Laurent stirs. "Pleasant dream?" 

"I dreamt I was back home, gazing upon the shores of Isthima across the water," Damen lies, quietly, so as not to wake any of the other sleeping men in the tent.

"Yes, I have heard the shores of Isthima can be most... rousing," Laurent replies. He shifts his backside pointedly along Damen's lap.

"I'd like some air," Damen declares as he slips outside to escape Laurent's knowing gaze.

  
* * * * * 

The situation with Nicaise comes to a head when Damen wakes up in the dead of night, again--this time to Nikandros shouting about assassins entering the tent.

After a great deal of clamor and alarm throughout the camp, a sheepish Nicaise is revealed to have been the intruder. Given their recent history with nighttime ambushes, Nikandros possesses no sense of humor about the misunderstanding.

Once the camp has settled itself again, Damen fixes Laurent with an unwavering gaze. "Are you going to talk to Nicaise?"

"I don't know why you're looking at me. It's not as if I had anything to do with his lack of manners," Laurent replies. "He's the product of a rabid goat and an alcoholic madman. If anything, we should be grateful he's not more feral than he already is."

Damen raises an eyebrow. "The only way I can imagine him being more feral is if he attempted to pee on Nikandros' leg."

"Or rutted against it."

Damen snickers, and grows serious again. "I will need to tell Nikandros. I think he's half convinced the boy is a tiny assassin leading us to a snowy doom."

Laurent chuckles and rubs his eyes. "Alright, yes, fine. I will talk to Nicaise and ensure that our plans are not consumed by the flames of adolescent lust."

"Good." Damen drags his gaze away from the open laces down the front of Laurent's shirt; in the mad scramble out of the tent, nobody had the chance to get more than half-dressed. He knows what lies underneath that shirt, those trousers. He aches to see it all again, to touch.

"Shall I go now?" Laurent asks archly, making it clear he'd caught Damen staring. "Or would you prefer to attend me first?"

Damen coughs, and finds some task to busy himself with--away from the tantalizing sight of Laurent's bare skin.


	47. Chapter 47

[ LAURENT ]

"Tomorrow we'll reach the base of the mountain," Nicaise announces at supper time. "Would have been there yesterday, but you old farts slowed me down."

"We've made better time than I expected, considering the conditions," Damianos says. "You've done well."

"Obviously," Nicaise says with an exaggerated eye roll. Despite his great show of indifference, Laurent notes the way he glances furtively at Nikandros, checking to see whether the praise was heard. Apparently, Laurent was correct to assume Nicaise had listened to absolutely nothing he'd said in their awkward conversation about Nikandros yesterday evening.

Nikandros is too busy shoveling hot food into his mouth to pay attention to much else, unfortunately for Nicaise.

"After we descend, we'll make camp for a few days to give the men a chance to recover," Laurent says. "We can also take inventory of our remaining supplies, and what we'll need once we reach Bazal."

"King Torgeir is expecting us?" Damianos asks. His firm bulk is a pleasing warmth by the fire and excellent in guarding against a biting wind. Laurent huddles in as close as he can.

"He is," Laurent says. "We will meet Prince Torveld in Lamark. He may escort us personally to the capitol and, if things go well, make a favorable introduction to the King."

"Does Prince Torveld have the authority to grant us aid?"

Laurent shakes his head. "Aside from being a prince, his official role is that of Ambassador to Vask. He does not command any armed forces, and cannot order a military action on his own authority. He is a trusted adviser to the king, but is one among many, including the king's daughter and heiress apparent, Princess Tora."

"The Princess, yes," Damianos pauses. "She is--what, twenty-three years of age, now? We met once as children, before her injury. I have not seen her since."

The last time Laurent visited at Bazal, Tora had been too preoccupied by political battles within the court to concern herself with an uncle's foreign lover. Everything he knows of her is second-hand, as they never met in the months he was there. "My understanding is that the King has been gradually passing responsibility for some matters to her, preparing her for the leadership of a nation. I expect her opinion on your situation may be key to securing his support."

Damianos nods. "Her brothers are young yet, correct?"

"Yes. Prince Tor is sixteen, Torson fourteen, and Torem only eight."

"Torgeir, Torveld, Tora, Tor, Torson, and Torem," Damianos says dryly, "This won't be confusing at all."

"The first three are the ones you'll need to keep track of," Laurent says. "The others are not old enough to have their father's ear. I believe Torson and Torem might even be away, completing their schooling in another city in Patras."

"Tora and Torveld. I have heard Prince Torveld praised, though never had the opportunity to meet him," Damianos says. "Do you know much about him?"

Orlant chuckles, masked quickly with a cough once he catches sight of Laurent's expression. Jord's face stays carefully blank. Lazar openly smirks. 

"He is an honorable man, judicious and fair," Laurent says, because whatever may have transpired between he and Torveld, that much is true. "I do not know if the king will offer us aid, but Prince Torveld will ensure that he hears your request."

"That is all I can ask for," Damianos says, sinking into a despondent mood that's become disturbingly common for him lately. "I hope they can be swayed, and that Kastor's lies haven't reached them yet."


	48. Chapter 48

As soon as the grasslands of Patras appear in the horizon, the battalion visibly perks up. Several men dash the last quarter mile down the incline, Aimeric at the front of the group. Upon reaching the bottom, he throws off his pack and stoops to kiss the earth. Jord watches him fondly. Pallas peels out of his cloak in order to frolic in a sunbeam with a butterfly, much to Lazar's amazement.

The forward scouts have already begun setting up camp. Laurent has never been happier to see his private tent at the far end.

He meets with numerous messengers that have been awaiting his arrival. They bear news from Vere (food stockpiling has begun, as has increased border defense), Akielos (a slave rebellion is taking place in Sicyon, more information needed), and Patras (Prince Torveld is en route to Lamark). 

There's a pile of letters from his Patran informants which demand attention, but first: Laurent discards his heavy winter clothing (gloves, cloak, vest, over-tunic, boots, breeches) and sinks gratefully into a chair by the banked fire. He means only to savor the warmth for a moment, but the comfortable chair and the heat make him drowsy enough to lose his grip on consciousness.

He wakes to the sound of Damianos entering the tent. It is still light outside, and Laurent straightens, embarrassed at having been caught napping.

Thankfully, Damianos doesn't seem to have noticed. "It is good to finally be in a reasonable climate again," Damianos says as he sheds his clothes with startling efficiency. After weeks of everyone being bundled from head to toe in clothing, the long expanses of deep brown skin are a beautiful sight to behold.

"Good to be out of the chill," Laurent says, inane, as his grogginess abruptly melts away.

"The soldier Pallas to see you," Jord announces from outside the tent.

"Send him in," Damianos replies as he dampens a cloth in a bowl of warm water. He wipes himself down in long, un-selfconscious strokes that leave him glistening, muscles moving in a way which fills Laurent's mouth with saliva. The fact that his actions are without artifice or any performative quality only heightens the allure. Damianos doesn't cease washing himself when Pallas enters and makes obeisance.

"Inventory has been completed, as you requested," Pallas says, professional even as his commander is naked and wet in front of him. "Supplies are low, and we lost five horses in the journey, but miraculously, no men. Several have taken ill, but Paschal is tending to them and they are expected to make a full recovery."

"Excellent work," Damianos says, and Laurent can see the flush in Pallas' cheek at the praise. Perhaps not purely from the praise.

They confer further about the camp, guard shift duty, and other things Laurent should be paying more attention to. But he finds himself rather distracted. And, if the growing size of Damianos' member is any indication, he is not the only one.

At the end of the discussion, there is a pause.

"If I may be of any further service, Exalted," Pallas says, gaze resting with clear yearning on Damianos' half-hard dick.

"You may attend your king," Laurent says, causing Pallas--who had evidently forgotten he was there--to startle.

"You presume to speak for me?" Damianos says, with an eyebrow raised. He does not seem displeased, nor has the enthusiasm of his cock waned.

Laurent tosses his hair over his shoulder and resettles in his chair. "I do."

Pallas sinks to his knees. "Nothing would please me more than to serve."

Laurent cocks his head to one side. "Would you deny him?"

Damianos discards his washcloth without looking away from Laurent. His cock continues to harden. "Perhaps the one I should deny is you."

Laurent sits back and spreads his legs, aware of how tightly his trousers stretch over the growing stiffness. "You may certainly try."

Damianos touches Pallas' shoulder, still not breaking eye contact. Pallas, who has been practically thrumming with anticipatory energy, surges forward in an attempt to swallow all of Damianos' considerable length down. He doesn't quite succeed. 

Laurent stands. He strolls closer, touches Pallas' other shoulder and says, "Remember what I taught you. Your exalted enjoys the tease. Prefers it."

Damianos sucks in a little gasp of air as Pallas pulls back and slows. Damianos doesn't protest, doesn't move as Laurent circles them both, taking in the magnificent tableau.

Damianos' hands come to rest on Pallas' head, fingers stroking through curls gently, undemanding. Soft moans and other sounds of appreciation issue forth, the muscles of his chest flexing with every breath. His waist is trim, inguinal ligaments clear lines down to his groin. Damianos' ass is, now that Laurent has the time to examine it up close, spectacular. Tight, shapely, and perfect for Laurent to bury his face--not to mention his cock--in. 

Laurent skims his fingernails from the back of Damianos' neck, over his spine, to where his dusky hole rests. Smiles when Damianos' head tips back and he moves into the touch wordlessly.

"Laurent," Damianos says roughly. "I will--I am--"

Laurent thumbs Damianos' hole as he comes, observes the way all of his muscles tighten and release. The way Laurent's finger slips further in, Damianos' body accepting him without reserve.

Pallas sighs with contentment once Damianos is finished, licks his lips and looks up with glassy lust. His dick is peering up, hard and red, from under the edge of his uniform skirt.

Laurent withdraws from Damianos reluctantly and says, "Once again, you leave him wanting."

Damianos cups Pallas' chin, and speaks. "Will you give him satisfaction?"

Pallas inclines into Damianos' touch like a cat, turning to stare at the erection barely contained in Laurent's own trousers.

Laurent stoops down to capture Pallas' lips with his. Pallas freezes, startled, before kissing back. He tastes of what must be Damianos' seed, and it makes Laurent shiver, press forward more eagerly than he should. For a second, Laurent feels Damianos' hand in his hair.

"How would you like to come," Laurent murmurs, breaking the kiss, "with my cock in your ass?"

Panting, Pallas nods.

A simple matter to remove Pallas' uniform. A more complex one to remove Laurent's. It is a task Pallas takes to, once again, with much eagerness and less skill. Damianos, to Laurent's surprise, also assists: deftly undoing the laces at Laurent's wrists and neck, helping to tug his shirt over his head. Once the task is done, however, he retreats to observe, only.

It is no matter. Laurent reclines on the bed and soon has an eager lapful of another Akielon warrior, not as broad or tall, true, but lovely nonetheless. And his ass, once he sinks onto Laurent, is heavenly.

Damianos watches Pallas writhe on top of Laurent with a heavy gaze like a physical caress. Damianos is hard again, stroking himself.

Laurent touches Pallas' cock and wonders what Damianos' feels like, how large it would be in his palm, how wet it would get. He wonders what sounds he could extract, whether Damianos would spread his legs wide, silently begging for fingers or cock. He wonders if Damianos would ride him like Pallas is, eyes closed and intent on his own pleasure.

Pallas' mouth falls open with a tremulous moan. "May--may I--"

"You may," Laurent says.

Come spurts over his knuckles as Pallas shakes apart. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Damianos shudder and come as well. It is enough to push Laurent closer to the edge himself.

"Very good," Laurent says as Pallas relaxes. His smile is bright and happy, and Laurent can see why Lazar has been so charmed. "It seems you have pleased your king two times over."

"But not your majesty, yet," Pallas murmurs, long eyelashes drifting low as he begins to move his hips again. Laurent gasps when Pallas sets a determined pace, the tight clutch around Laurent's cock pulling him inexorably towards orgasm.

Laurent snaps up into Pallas when he climaxes, eyes falling shut as he chases the delicious feeling. 

He opens his eyes to Damianos standing over him again, kissing Pallas with a hunger that wrests another pulse from Laurent's spent cock. It is the last image he sees before he drifts off, once more, into thoroughly satisfied slumber.


	49. Chapter 49

[ DAMEN ]

Making the relationship between he and Laurent more complicated when the future of his nation may be at stake is not something his mother would approve of. Would have approved of. And his father--Damen knew exactly what King Theomedes thought of Veretians.

Ill-advised sex with Prince Laurent and one of Damen's only remaining soldiers after weeks of careful self-control and discipline. Covering Laurent's sated body with a blanket, pleased that the wound in his side has mostly healed. Watching him sleep with a strange feeling of tenderness.

He cannot afford these distractions. Not now, when an audience with King Torgeir is so close, and a homecoming visible on the horizon. Perhaps the court at Bazal will have more news on the current state of Akielos. Perhaps they will reveal that Kastor has come to his senses, rendering Damen's planned march on his own country unnecessary. 

Perhaps Jokaste will be waiting for Damen in Ios, ready with a smirk and a drawling, "What took you so long? Didn't you miss me?"

"I missed you," Damen would say. "I missed you, and Mother, and Father so much."

He doesn't know what he'd want her reply to be. Maybe that it would all be alright now. That things would go back to the way they used to be. That--

Then the image of Lykaios, dead on the muddy ground, flashes once more before his eyes. The image of all his men, cut down in the middle of the night. A Veretian trick, Damen can practically hear his father saying. A series of elaborate falsehoods in order to deceive Damen while he is helpless in their lands.

But he thinks of Laurent once more, peaceful in sleep. Shivering for weeks in the mountains. Naming Nikandros the captain of his forces. Laurent is nothing like the men Damen consorted with in Akielos. There is no sense of ease with Laurent, no revelry in sport. He is, instead, a brilliant, sharpened mind shrouded in deliberate affectation and statuesque beauty. All turned towards helping Damen regain his throne. How could Laurent be his enemy?

How could Kastor?

Damen walks throughout the camp, observes the men eating, cleaning their weapons, sparring. Everyone is pleased to be staying put for several days and morale is high. They have endured much and improved beyond all expectation at Laurent's command, under Nikandros' supervision. Their rest is earned, deserved.

A messenger dressed in the Patran colors approaches on horse. She bears a message: Prince Torveld has received news of their arrival, and will be riding out to greet their camp personally in the coming day.

Damen puts his feelings aside. He has more important matters to focus on.


	50. Chapter 50

One of the Patran attendants steps forward and begins, "May I present--"

Before she can finish, a handsome, bearded man in royal regalia leaps off his horse. He speaks in clear, lightly accented Veretian. "My darling Laurent."

"Hello, Torveld," Laurent replies. A small, private smile hovers about his lips as the Patran prince comes to a halt directly in front of him. "Have you been well?"

"As well as could be expected an entire country away," Torveld says, tone softer than expected. "Have you been good?"

"I think you know the answer to that," Laurent murmurs, and Torveld chuckles, low and knowing. Damen frowns while Nikandros raises an eyebrow. Torveld's men remain stone-faced and Laurent's guards seem unsurprised. Which means--

"I greet you, Prince Laurent of Vere," Torveld says as he deposits a kiss on both cheeks, followed by one on the lips. Damen's frown deepens.

"As I greet you, Prince Torveld of Patras." Laurent extends his arm towards Damen. "I present to you Prince Damianos, rightful heir to the Akielon throne."

Damen finds himself the subject of a piercing and not altogether friendly stare. "Prince Damianos," Torveld says. "My condolences on your parents. I met King Theomedes once, and judged him a strong and fearless ruler."

"Thank you," Damen replies. "My father spoke fondly of his trips to Patras, as well as the warm friendship he enjoyed with your brother, King Torgeir. It is a pleasure to be able to visit your fair lands."

"Yes, although I'm sure we all wish this visit were made under different circumstances," Torveld says, with a sidelong glance at Laurent. They are no longer touching, but bare inches separate them. "I have heard much about the precarious situation you now find yourself in."

"It is why I have come to request an audience with the King, your brother," Damen says and switches to Patran, "I seek aid in reclaiming my stolen throne."

Torveld inclines his head to one side and replies in Patran, "The King will grant you an audience."

"Thank you," Damen says, and Laurent echoes the words.

"You have lent him your forces and and made a dangerous journey," Torveld says, attention switching back to Laurent. The question why is palpable at the end of the statement.

"I look forward to the three of us discussing the matter further," Laurent says with a pointed look at the attendants watching their conversation. His Patran, though strongly accented, is excellent. Better than his Akielon.

"Indeed." Torveld's gaze flickers between Laurent and Damen before he claps his hands. "But you must be exhausted after such a treacherous journey through the mountains. Allow me to extend a Patran welcome. The banquet is a meager offering in comparison to what hospitality you shall receive at my brother's palace, but I hope it shall serve."

"Anything other than the dried meat and rations we have been living off for the past two weeks shall be met with tears of joy," Laurent says. "Thank you."

Damen offers his thanks as well, but Torveld has eyes only for Laurent. Torveld pitches his voice low, "I brought those sweet cakes you like."

Laurent's expression lights up. "The ones with the honey?"

"And the dates."

Laurent chuckles. "I can't believe you remembered."

"How could I forget? You nearly created a shortage in both honey and dates during your stay at the palace," Torveld replies. He aims one last, nearly challenging glance at Damen. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Prince Damianos."

"And you, Prince Torveld," Damen says, whirring with the knowledge that Laurent has been to Bazal before. It makes perfect sense, given Laurent's facility with Patran, the fact that he and Torveld know each other in ways that might be--quite intimate. Odd that Laurent has only made the vaguest references to any of this, but Damen supposes neither of them have exchanged many words on their previous (or current) courtships.

After the Patran delegation leave, Damen and Laurent return to their tent. 

Damen starts, "I had no idea you and Prince Torveld were so... familiar."

Laurent doesn't react, nor does he mince words. "Torveld and I used to fuck, yes."

"Was that all? Because the way he looks at you is..." Damen tries to articulate what he glimpsed. "He is a man enamored, it seems to me."

"Ah. Well." Laurent shrugs one elegant shoulder. "Yes, I suppose he did come to court me, but that was almost two years ago. Ancient history."

"It doesn't seem ancient to Torveld." Damen pauses and ventures. "Or to you?"

Laurent is silent for a long minute, unreadable. "I--"

"Your majesty, apologies," Orlant calls into the tent. "The Patran ambassador to Vere requests an audience with Prince Laurent before the feast tonight."

"I should see to this matter," Laurent says and Damen nods. As he watches Laurent walk away, he wonders if Torveld is aware of his and Laurent's supposed love affair. If the measured greeting he received from Torveld is any indication, the answer is probably yes. 

Torveld is a handsome man. By all accounts, an intelligent and kind one, renowned for negotiating a peace treaty with Vask after decades of war. Still, he is many years Laurent's senior, and surely Laurent would prefer a companion closer to his own age. Wouldn't he?

It should be no surprise that foreign princes have come to court Laurent. He is beautiful, with an unparalleled mind and a sexual charisma few can claim. He is also, underneath his sly humor, deeply kind, as Damen is coming to discover. A charge Laurent himself would surely deny and scoff at.

They would be a good match, Damen is forced to admit. Royalty who do not stand to inherit the throne, highly regarded advisers to their brothers. No expectation of a productive marriage that leads to heirs. Their pairing would reinforce a strong alliance and likely be regarded on every side as a prudent choice. If they were a love match as well, all the better.

Nothing like the scorn and contempt Laurent has received from his fictional dalliance with Damen. Nor the suspicion Laurent will probably receive when he reaches Akielos. 

Damen's lucky that relationship between them is not real. Both he and Laurent are.


	51. Chapter 51

[ LAURENT ] 

The Patran Ambassador to Vere, Aslaug, has never liked Laurent. Unfortunately, a year apart has not changed that opinion. He still can't determine the source of her disapproval--does she consider him too young? Too silly? Too Veretian? 

Aslaug couches her queries about Laurent's romantic affairs in the most diplomatic language possible, likely sent on behalf of one of the Patran royal family. What's less clear is to whom she ultimately reports: Prince Torveld, King Torgeir, or the ascendant heiress, Princess Tora?

Regardless of whose ears his words eventually reach, there are no facts to be discovered, only a set of lies Laurent must make consistent. He does well enough on that front; the ambassador leaves the meeting displeased with what she hears, and likely no fonder of him.

After she's gone, Laurent turns to the unexpectedly warm greeting he received from Torveld, who is as handsome as ever. That full beard, those dark eyes, that self-assured sexiness--absolutely mouthwatering. Sadly, Laurent is not in the position to capitalize on those features, although, perhaps Damianos would be open to--

No, Laurent has more pressing matters to put his energy towards things than arranging a politically problematic _menage a trois_. 

A nice fantasy to enjoy in a bath, later, though.

"Orlant," Laurent summons his guard. "How is your Patran?"

"I have been keeping up with my study, as you instructed," Orlant replies.

"Good. I'll need you to be my eyes and ears for the duration of our stay in the country," Laurent says. "Are you still in correspondence with Princess Tora's handmaiden?"

"I am. She eagerly awaits my arrival in the capital."

"Any news from the palace? Last time I was there, her mistress did not much appreciate my wit."

"Elin remains loyal to Princess Tora," Orlant says. "What she's said in letters confirms our reports about a power struggle taking place. She hasn't given many details. I think she's afraid of spies intercepting her mail."

"As she should be," Laurent says. "Have you established contact with our agents in Bazal?"

"Yes. Messengers carrying more news will greet us in Lamark."

"Good. Now tell Lazar I wish to speak with him." Laurent gazes into the fire. "We have a great deal of work ahead of us in Patras."


	52. Chapter 52

[ DAMEN ] 

Another prince, another awkward feast at a long banquet table.

As grateful as Damen is to be out of the frigid weather, eating something besides military rations, it does not cancel out the discomfort of being seated next to Laurent's--former?--lover. Laurent is seated on the other side of Torveld, and the first half of the meal involves a great deal of flirtatious conversation between the two. Unfortunately, during the second half Laurent's attention is captured by several determined Patran nobility, leaving Torveld to Damen.

"Have you known Prince Laurent long?" Torveld asks.

"Not very," Damen says, picking his words carefully. "We first met in the summer when Vere and Akielos joined in friendly agon."

"Ah yes, I heard about that. Many in Patras were surprised--my brother did not think he'd live to see the day when Veretians and Akielons could meet in a field without bloodshed."

"The Veretians accepting our invitation came as a bit of a surprise to us as well," Damen says. "Perhaps it should not have. When my mother sets her mind to something, little can stand in her way."

"The games were her idea?"

Damen nods. "She and Queen Hennike spent several years in correspondence trying to imagine a new way of bringing our countries together, defusing hostilities. They settled on sport, then selected a site that would be acceptable to both sides, the list of events, and the members of the delegation. All to restart a diplomatic relationship many once thought impossible."

"She sounds like a formidable woman, your mother."

"She--" _is_ , Damen starts to say. Grief rises up in his throat. "She was."

"My condolences, once more," Torveld says, and his expression has softened. "There were rumors spread--dishonorable things said about your parentage. Your mother. But now that I have met you I can see plainly how false they were. Your resemblance to King Theomedes is undeniable."

"Then you will support my claim?"

"I believe you are who you say you are," Torveld says, and this time it's he that chooses words carefully. "I believe your cause is just. The question of Patran support is a complicated one that my brother will be better equipped to answer."

Damen supposes he should have known better than to hope for a commitment this early in negotiations. At least it's not an outright refusal. Yet. "How fares your brother?"

"He is in good health," Torveld says, a rote answer that reveals nothing. "And yours?"

"I could ask you the same question," Damen says, abruptly exhausted by the banquet, by watching Torveld stare at Laurent dreamily, by this conversation. "I've been in the mountains for the past few weeks."

"Yes, of course. I apologize for my boorish thoughtlessnes," Torveld says, seeming genuinely contrite. "There has not been much news from Akielos reaching Bazal as of late. Border traffic has all but ceased, and it is as if the country has turned inward in its focus. As I mentioned, wild rumors abound about a slave rebellion, dissatisfaction among the kyroi--but I do not know if I should credit them."

"Slave--" Damen frowns and shakes his head. "Wild speculation, as you say. I shall have to sort through the truth once my communications are restored."

"Ah, but I should not speak of slavery so loudly," Torveld says with a glance over his shoulder at Laurent, who is still preoccupied with ambitious courtiers. "Laurent finds the topic particularly objectionable."

"Does he?" Damen thinks back to the way Laurent had acted around Lykaios, how he insisted that Erasmus and Kallias leave their camp as free men.

"We've had more arguments that I can count on the matter," Torveld says with a deep sip of his wine. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but dear Laurie does like to philosophize."

Damen pauses at the casual sobriquet. "And you do not care for philosophy?"

"I believe philosophy has its place, but one must be pragmatic and reckon with the world as it is, not as one might wish it to be," Torveld replies. "He is a young man, full of idealism. I'm sure his attitudes will mature, in time."

Damen frowns, and quickly covers it with a sip of his own wine. "I find it refreshing to be around someone with a hopeful vision of the future and the courage to act upon it."

Torveld's smile wavers for a moment before he holds up his goblet. "It seems I am outnumbered by young men. Shall we toast to hopeful visions of the future, then?"

"A toast," Laurent says, voice entering their conversation in Patran unexpectedly. Torveld turns in surprise. Behind him, Laurent's eyes are impossible to read, and Damen wonders how long he has been listening. "To changing the world."


	53. Chapter 53

[ LAURENT ]

Lamark is a small city that has mostly recovered from its years as a bitter battleground between Vask and Patras. Vestiges of this history can be seen in the people alongside the pitted buildings, from their Vaskian hairstyles to unusual local dialect. 

Prince Torveld puts them up in the summer palace, a grand old structure that once served as the main home of the royal family. 

Between the empty quarters in the castle and various inns throughout the city, there's enough space for all the troops to sleep indoors if they are willing to share. Aimeric and Jord disappear immediately to take advantage of the fleeting privacy. Nikandros expects to bunk with Pallas before being informed of the ongoing affair with Lazar. Lazar amicably offers to share the room, among other things. Nikandros declines after an entertaining round of blushing and stammering.

Laurent continues to share a room with Damianos, but no other things. Sadly.

After weeks of wandering through mountains with spotty communication, there is an abundance of letters to read and respond to, including messages from the spies Queen Hennike has laced throughout Patras. All are professional, discreet, and warn that the status of Patran politics is more complicated than it might first appear.

Rare news smuggled across the Akielon border: the slave rebellion has spread from Sicyon down to Mellos. Kastor ordered a crackdown on the provinces, and government forces are struggling to contain the uprising. Many innocent civilians have died in the crossfire, prompting rumblings of discontent among the kyroi about the bloody toll.

News of the political instability in Akielos has also reached the Empress Vishkar in the north, with rumors that she may send a delegation down to speak with Kastor. Both Auguste and Queen Hennike are concerned; if Kastor attacks Vere's southern border, the Empress might see this as an opportunity to seize disputed lands along Vere's northern border, thus opening the possibility of a two front war. 

Then there is the matter of domestic Patran politics. Unlike its neighbors, Patras is a heavily religious state, with the head of their clergy, Cleric Egil, serving as a spiritual leader to the people alongside the monarch, their secular leader. Egil has enjoyed a longstanding relationship with King Torgeir as an influential adviser, but apparently the Princess Tora is less religiously-inclined than her father. 

She has advocated for more distance between the clergy and the government, arguing that the considerations of law must sometimes be separate than the those of religion. This has proven to be a controversial stance in Bazal and displeased many of the clergy, who have stopped short of calling it heresy.

The last note from 'Aunt Abbleka' found in Lazar's correspondence is a cryptic message to 'be sure to dress humbly when buying cloth in Bazal.' The letter goes on to list exacting specifications for the purchase, calling for two bolts of Varennese silk and three of Barbinese velvet in fashionable colors. Laurent isn't sure why he's being told to buy Veretian fabric in the heart of Patras, but perhaps the velvet can be made into military pennants that inspire, if not fear, at least respect for Veretian textile quality in their enemies.

The door opens and Damianos enters, brows drawn together in the furrow that has become omnipresent ever since they stepped foot in Patras. Laurent would say it's a bad look on him except that would be a stupid lie; brooding looks as good on Damianos as virtually every other emotion, with the possible exception of constipated. Although even that has its merits.

"A word, Prince Laurent," Damianos says, with unusual formality.

"That sounds ominous." Laurent sets down his messages. "Is this about Nicaise stealing a pair of Nikandros' undergarments? I told him that if he was going to be a stowaway thief, he should at least be competent enough at sneaking to avoid getting caught by Aimeric, of all people."

"What? No, that's not... what?" Damianos squints at Laurent and then shakes his head. "No, this is not regarding underwear."

Laurent props his chin up with his palm. "You do like to build the suspense as long as possible, don't you?"

"Torveld is in love with you," Damianos says with a quick exhalation. "I may not fully understand everything that transpired between the you two, but his feelings are clear. The fiction of a relationship serves our purposes, but I want you to know that it in no way obligates you to any sort of--of fidelity to me. You are as free to act upon your own feelings as ever."

"Was this in question?"

Damianos barrels onward, seeming not to have heard Laurent's words. "I also understand that there was a point in which Torveld sought your hand in marriage--" Laurent blinks, surprised not so much that Damianos knows but that he bothered to find out. "And I want you to know that if you truly--that is, if you wish to pledge your life to his, I will not stand in your way. No matter what that means for my campaign."

Laurent stares. Damianos fidgets.

"Alright," Laurent says. "I'll admit it: you have surprised me."

"My intention was not to startle, but to make clear I will step aside if--"

"Yes, yes, I am fully cognizant of that, you earnest--" Laurent breaks off and mutters a few choice words in Veretian. Which, of course, Damianos can understand, because he is a trilingual barbarian possessing an overabundance of chiseled muscles in lieu of sense. "That will not be necessary."

"But--"

Laurent sighs deeply; Damianos seems determined. "Torveld and I were once intimately involved, but we are no longer. Nor will we be again in the near future, certainly not while I am still by your side in this campaign. For reasons that have nothing to do with you, or, for that matter, our fake relationship."

"Oh." It might be wishful thinking, but Laurent suspects a hint of relief in Damianos' expression. "Why didn't you say something before we reached Patras about--all of this?"

Laurent contemplates lying, but ultimately determines that truth is the most expedient--if embarrassing--option here. "I wasn't sure how Torveld would act towards me. It has been some time since I last visited, and I left shortly after I--declined his proposal."

"I see." To Damianos' credit, he seems to process this information quickly. "Then the way he greeted you--do you believe he intends to try to rekindle your romance and change your mind?"

"He may try, I suppose. Though the reasons why we ended have not disappeared," Laurent says, and he remembers Damianos' words at the banquet, how he defended Laurent's convictions. 

"He is a good man. A good prince," Damianos says, without any edge or irony. His continuous, unabated sincerity is both irritating and oddly endearing.

"He is," Laurent agrees, eager to move the conversation onto less sensitive matters. "On the subject of marriage--was there ever talk about a political marriage between Princess Tora and Kastor?"

Damianos shakes his head. "I believe my parents might have considered the idea, but the Patran ambassador did not seem excited by the idea of marrying their Crown Princess to an illegitimate child of the king. As she and I were both declared heirs, we were never considered for a match."

"Indeed, she was unsuitable for Auguste for similar reasons." Laurent pauses. "The Patrans did not have much interest in me as a potential husband either, as I was rather sickly as a child and considered a poor prospect. Many speculated I would die before reaching the age of maturity."

"Sickly?" Damianos' gaze sweeps over Laurent and lingers, perhaps longer than he realizes. "You do not look it."

"I was quite frail," Laurent says, grimacing slightly at the memory. "I spent days in bed reading while normal children would be out and about. I grew out of it eventually, but continued to use my dubious constitution as a convenient excuse to avoid engaging in activities I had no interest in."

"Naturally," Damianos replies, amused.

"By the time anyone realized I was fine, I was too old to be considered for a prime political marriage, a situation I am persistently thankful for."

"You do not care for women at all?"

"I have made a few attempts. Scandalous, I know, but rest assured that the possibility of a bastard arising from any of my fumbling encounters is absolutely nil," Laurent says, wryly. "For me, the prohibition on opposite gender relations is no hardship at all."

"I think there is much to admire in both genders," Damianos says, ever the diplomat. "Have you met the Princess Tora personally?"

Laurent shakes his head. "When I visited Bazal last, she was touring the northern border and investigating local unrest. I left weeks before she returned."

"A Patran emissary that came to Ios told me that some years ago there'd been talk of a marriage between the Princess and one of Empress Vishkar's sons. The empress decided against the idea, though no one knows why."

"For a future ruler, rather little is actually known about her." Laurent muses, "Perhaps that is by design."

There's a knock on the door. "I apologize for intruding, your majesties," Orlant says upon entering. "Prince Torveld is requesting a meeting with Prince Laurent."

Laurent nods and prepares himself to go. He's more than a little thankful from the reprieve.

"Think about what I've said," Damianos says, catching Laurent by the elbow. "I want you to be--"

"There's nothing to think about," Laurent interrupts, trying to ignore the jolt that Damianos' touch sends through him. "You are the sole sun in my sky, sound in my ears, fly in my honey. Etc, etc."

Damianos laughs as he releases his grip. "Have it your way."

Laurent sniffs. "I always do."


	54. Chapter 54

Time for the reckoning.

Laurent squares his shoulders as he approaches Torveld's chambers. There will be no sex tonight; he decided this earlier. Torveld will prove a temptation, especially given Laurent's recent quasi-celibacy, but too much is at stake. Auguste is readying a country for an invasion; all Laurent has to do is avoid getting his dick wet. He can manage this.

"Finn, Hans," Laurent greets Torveld's bodyguards in Patran. "It's good to see you. How have you been?" Laurent inquires after their children (and in Finn's case, grandchildren), their health. Finn and Hans both respond warmly, which bodes well for the delicate conversation ahead. 

Torveld is staying in the king's quarters of the Summer Palace, a tastefully appointed suite somewhere between the austerity of Akelian décor and the luxurious texture of Vask. There are candles burning in addition to the fireplace, and a faint perfume in the air. Laurent notes no servants or--more importantly--slaves present.

Torveld stands by the window in beautifully tailored finery, staring into the distance. His profile is striking, regal. Laurent takes a noisy step forward to announce his arrival.

"Laurie," Torveld says, turning. "Would you care for a glass of wine?"

"A small one." Laurent eyes the generous helping Torveld pours. "I did say small."

"My hand slipped," Torveld replies, shrugs with a small smile. As royalty, Laurent is surrounded by fearful subjects, sycophants trying to curry favor, or those that would actively do him harm. He does not blame them for this; he's sure he would act similarly were he in their situation. Still, it's a pleasant relief to be with someone who knows who Laurent is, yet needs no approval and fears no rebuke. "I could pour you another, if you'd like."

"Still not used to pouring your own drinks, I see," Laurent teases as he takes the decanter from Torveld and pours himself a more modest glass. "Unless your desire is that I nod off halfway through our conversation."

"Are you trying to tell me I'm dull enough to put you to sleep?" 

Laurent chuckles. "Have I ever been so roundabout in my criticism?"

"Not with me, but I have seen you at work in Vere," Torveld says, sparkling with good humor. 

"Work? What would an idle, feckless princeling such as myself know of work?" Laurent flings himself carelessly across a low-slung settee, which bears a suspicious resemblance to the first piece of furniture they ever fucked on. "I spend my days drinking champagne and feeding my pets sweetmeats."

"You never fed me any sweetmeats." Torveld takes a seat beside him. "Now I'm jealous."

"Perhaps if you'd been better behaved, I would have." It's too easy to slip back into flirting, into old habits. Dangerous.

"Since when have you ever been interested in behaving?" Torveld's voice deepens, going straight to Laurent's groin.

"Ah, but we're talking about how you should act, not how I should."

"Then let's talk about you." Torveld's voice softens. "I miss your wit. The tender heart that beats beneath all your bluster."

"Sweet talking my clothes off should involve more discussion of my pretty hair and fewer slanderous lies about my character." They are sitting very close together, and Torveld smells luscious as ever.

Torveld chuckles, his hand gliding down Laurent's back. "Your hair is very pretty, as you are undoubtedly aware. But it is not for pretty hair that I have written you all these months."

Laurent can feel heat rising in his cheeks. Blushing? At his age? To distract, he runs his thumb along the side of Torveld's jaw, over the soft bristles of his beard. "Are you trying to seduce me?" 

"Yes." Torveld tips his face to kiss Laurent's knuckles. "Is it working?" 

Laurent can't tear his eyes away from Torveld's lips against his thumb. "Amateur attempt at best."

Torveld smiles. "Should I go harder, then?"

All the blood in Laurent's body is rushing southward, singing with anticipation. Torveld is but a few inches away, waiting, handsome, eager. It would be so easy.

Laurent stands and walks a few feet, pretends to refresh his drink. His cock aches angrily between his legs. "You summoned me here for a reason, did you not? Something to do with Prince Damianos?"

Laurent can feel Torveld's eyes on his back. He doesn't turn around. "Is it true what they say about you and the prince?"

"I suppose it depends on what they say."

"That you and he are lovers. That this passion is why you're marching by his side."

"Bold claims," Laurent says. "I suppose my feelings must be strong indeed, if I've defied my family in order to chase his dream."

Torveld doesn't seem convinced. "Or is this another one of your political machinations?"

"Political machinations?" Laurent turns with wide eyes. "Moi?"

Torveld is studying him. "You must be aware of the implications of your involvement. Of Vere's involvement."

"As far as I know, Damianos is involved with no Veretian other than myself."

"And the soldiers you lead?"

"My honor guard."

Torveld huffs a small laugh. "Covered every angle, I see."

"There you go again, trying to pierce my aura of mystery. What will I have left when you're done with me?"

"Alright, keep your secrets. I never had any luck prying them from you." Torveld stands. "Tell me this, though: does he treat you well? Does he show you the courtesy you deserve?"

Laurent hesitates. His first instinct is to respond glibly, but Torveld--he deserves better than that. "Prince Damianos is a truly good man," Laurent says. "And I have had the privilege of knowing several."

There were reasons, good ones, why they ended. In Torveld's presence, they all seem to recede but never quite disappear. A man who doesn't think about what being the paramour of a prince could bring him, how it could elevate his status. A man who appreciates Laurent's beauty but doesn't fixate on it, and appreciates who he is beyond it. Being with Torveld had been freeing, and joyous.

Laurent feels a twinge of regret. Despite all that, there can be no future between them.

Torveld looks down into his empty glass. "You know my offer still stands."

"And you know my answer remains unchanged." Laurent sets down his own glass. "I must take my leave of you."  


Torveld smiles ruefully and doesn't try to stop him. "Yes. I suppose you must."

It takes all of Laurent's willpower to leave that room. He doesn't run back to his quarters, but it's an exceedingly brisk walk.

Damianos is sleeping in bed and Laurent sighs as he peels his overtight trousers off by the fire and slicks his hand with oil. It takes approximately twelve quick strokes to bring himself off, and when he opens his eyes again, he catches movement in the corner. When he turns, Damianos has changed position, back to him.

Laurent is too tired to investigate whether Damianos is shamming sleep or not. He cleans himself off and changes into his pajamas. They rise early tomorrow and journey on to Bazal.


	55. Chapter 55

[ DAMEN ]

It's two days ride on well-maintained roads from Lamark to Bazal. The troops are in high spirits after enjoying some creature comforts like a warm bed and full belly. Prince Torveld provides a royal escort, making their passage easy and uneventful. The way he looks at Laurent has not changed, though they do keep a more measured distance now, as if by some agreement.

Their procession attracts a fair amount of attention in all the towns they pass through. Many Patrans have never seen a Veretian--or an Akielon, for that matter--in person before, and many are struck dumb by the colorful grandeur of the Veretian forces. 

In the bigger towns, organized parades are held. Performances are given in Torveld's honor, while the local elders and clerics come forward to greet him with gifts.

As they draw closer to the capital, the first building visible on the horizon isn't the royal palace but a towering temple known as The Forge. It's home to the national religion of Patras, the Order of the Falling Hammer. Damen knows little about the religion himself, his father having dismissed it as superstitious nonsense and his mother having been wary of its influence. Missionaries that occasionally crossed borders to proselytize to Akielons, but were often escorted back to Patras if they became too zealous.

The boulevards leading to The Forge are flanked with immaculately trimmed gardens, a profusion of greenery in an otherwise dry landscape; Damen can't imagine the money and the manpower it must take to water so many lush plants in dry season.

The temple stands at the edge of the city, an enormous structure dedicated to the numerous gods in the Patran pantheon. The doors are cast in gold, illustrating various religious scenes. Outside stand guards dressed not like Patran soldiers, but in armor emblazoned with a hammer. They stare straight ahead, expressionless, and do not make obeisance when Prince Torveld passes. Damen frowns.

"They're called the Peacemakers," Laurent murmurs as they ride past. "A militant arm of the Order of the Falling Hammer."

"They don't bow to their prince?" Damen responds.

"They answer only to the Grand Cleric of Bazal, Egil," Laurent replies. "Some claim they are holy monks. Others claim they are violent fanatics."

"Strange that the king would allow anyone to supplant his will."

"I suspect the royal family doesn't have much choice in the matter," Laurent replies. "The people of Patras are quite devout."

When reach the gates of the city, Damen looks up at the royal palace. Its banners fly proudly in the wind, but to its east, The Forge casts a long shadow across everything in its path, including the palace.


	56. Chapter 56

King Torgeir is a reserved man, with thinning white hair and dark eyes wearied by the weight of decision-making. He sits on an intricately carved wooden throne at the end of the great hall, haloed in the light of the enormous stained-glass window behind him.

It is easy to see the family resemblance between he and his brother, Torveld. The Crown Princess, Tora, sits in a stiff-backed chair by his side. She looks around Laurent's age, with imperious features and a stern knot of hair. She does not stand to greet Damen or Laurent when they are introduced, merely inclining her head once at each of them before reciting a standard greeting.

Damen explains everything that befell him and forces himself to outline Kastor's treachery. The words taste bitter on his tongue. While the court murmurs in disapproval and outrage, the king's expression doesn't change. A moment later, it becomes clear why.

"I dispute your charges," a clear voice rings out in Akielon-accented Patran. A handsome man with dark hair and a tan complexion steps forward. "King Kastor disputes the lies spread by the would-be usurper and illegitimate coward, Damianos."

Damen stares at the man as the court shifts around them; his face is not familiar, but he is undeniably Akielon. Damen asks him, in Akielon, "You dare accuse your rightful King of lying?"

The man tips his chin up and responds in Akielon, "I know who the true king is. He is the one currently occupying the throne in Ios, not an exiled traitor."

"I see you have been misled," Damen starts, shoulders tensing. 

Grand Cleric Egil stands. He's an older man, somewhere in his sixties, with shrewd eyes and a long, meticulously-kept beard. The gleaming gold jewelry around his neck rustles every time he moves. "A pitiable tale, to be sure," Egil says in Patran, with a show of false sorrow. "But how do we know this stranger to be a true prince of the blood? After all, if he were a bastard, would his mother not be motivated to conceal that fact from everyone, including him?"

"That is precisely what King Kastor says," the Akielon cries. "Between two bastards, which has the better right to the throne? That with the righteous King's blood running through his veins or that of a lying Queen's?"

"You dare cast aspersions on my mother's honor?" Damen turns to the man. "Identify yourself."

"Makon," he says with a bow to King Torgeir. "The King and court know me as my lord Kastor's servant and ambassador to Patras. He was concerned about the lies a treacherous exile might spread as repayment for the mercy he was shown."

"Mercy?" Damen says, not sure what he's hearing. 

"Is it now considered merciful to assassinate one's parents and spread false rumors about one's parentage?" Laurent's voice rings out, silkily. "I can't say I consider casting someone out of their own home in order to seize power a particularly just act."

The court titters as Makon reddens, clearly caught off-guard by Laurent. Egil steps into the hum once more. "We have what appears to be the word of one foreigner against another. Is it really in the best interests of Patras to involve itself in such petty squabbles outside its borders?"

"I would hardly call the government of our neighbor and largest trading partner a petty squabble," Princess Tora says, dry and imperious. "Or is chaos preferable to enforcing the proper rules of succession?"

A flicker of irritation crosses Egil's face before it smooths once more into a simpering mask. "I am, of course, but a humble cleric. My expertise lies in the divine, and I am not well-versed in the base nature of politics." _I doubt that,_ Damen thinks. "I am simply concerned about meddling in an outside affair. Our farmers are strong, fields productive, and bounty great thanks to the gods which smile upon us. What need have we of trade with Akielos?"

"As a former farmer, you should know better than any that seasons may change at any moment," Tora says, clearly a dig if the way Egil flushes is any indication. "What if a drought should befall the fields like it has for our Western neighbors of Vere?" She gestures towards Laurent. "Does it not behoove us to maintain good relations in order to ensure peace and prosperity for the future, not simply the present?"

Damen opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by King Torgeir. "We have heard your plea and words of counsel from all sides," the king says, in a tone that indicates the discussion is now over. "Given the gravity of the situation, we will reflect on what actions, if any, we will undertake. In the meanwhile, Prince Damianos and Prince Laurent, we invite you to enjoy the fair city of Bazal as our honored guests."

A dismissal, but not an outright refusal. Nor are they being spurned from the palace as interlopers. Damen makes obeisance and withdraws, deciding to take this as a win.

Palace guards escort them to their quarters. Technically, Patras is hosting Prince Laurent in the suites saved for visiting royalty and Damen is sharing them with him. Thus avoiding an awkward diplomatic statement about whether Bazal considers Damen a king in exile while Kastor has an ambassador on the premises.

The chambers are grand and serene, decorated in a restrained manner which reminds Damen of home. No slaves attend them, only palace servants. Given how Patran (and Akielon) hospitality usually involves the assignation of slaves based on the rank of the visitor, Damen is surprised. Some discreet questioning revealed that this is a long-standing and explicit preference of Laurent.

After so long in Vere, exclusively among free men, the presence of slaves is strangely--noticeable in a way Damen can't recall before. He sees them everywhere now: scrubbing the floors, carrying platters of fruit they will not partake in, prostrating themselves when Damen passes anywhere near them. That action itself, which once seemed natural and right, is vaguely unsettling now for reasons he can't quite understand.

Damen grew up surrounded by slaves, tended and cared for by them. Even when he traveled to other countries, they were a part of his retinue. It never occurred to him what life would be like without them. 

Necessary and beloved, his father always said. The most beautiful compact between slave and master. As essential as family. But after meeting Erasmus and Kallias, willing to risk everything for freedom--Damen wonders.

He puts such troubling thoughts out of his mind. He has no time for distractions, not when he has finally reached Bazal. He has days--a week, at most--to convince King Torgeir and others in the court of his cause. There is much work to be done and already damage to undo, thanks to the saboteur sent by Kastor.


	57. Chapter 57

"Nikandros, welcome." Damen stands to embraces him warmly. "The troops have kept you busy, I see."

"Oh, nothing serious. Just dealing with men picking fights, starting fires, and trying to draw me into ill-advised threesomes." Nikandros drops into a seat. "I knew what I was signing up for when I took the captaincy, but I wish someone would listen to me when I say I'm only attracted to women."

Damen chuckles, feeling lighter already. "And is Nicaise still giving you trouble?"

"I think he's lost interest, finally. Maybe." Nikandros puts his head in his hands. "Please, let him have finally lost interest." Damen snorts and Nikandros looks up. "And how are things with you and... the Veretian?"

"Excellent," Damen lies. "He has remained steady at my side and is committed to our cause."

"Sounds passionate and exciting." Nikandros scrutinizes Damen for a second too long. "You know if there was anything you wanted to talk about..."

"You would be the first I'd tell."

"And his--relationship with Prince Torveld?"

"He assured me that it is over and done."

"I suppose that does make things here less complicated, at least." Nikandros sits back in his chair and glances around the chambers. "This is much nicer than where they stuck me."

"Is it in a tent on frozen ground with twelve other snoring, farting men?"

Nikandros laughs. "The twisted thing is, by the second week I came to almost look forward to those farts. Because they helped warm up that miserable tent."

"I know you did not come here to talk about icy farts. What's going on?"

"I've received word from Makedon. He can meet us in Aegina, but he cannot help us cross from Patras. To do so, he would have to assault the soldiers posted at the border, Kyros Heiron's men."

"The Kyros is a good man," Damen sighs. "Well, nothing else has been easy. I suppose I shouldn't have expected this to be, either. Is there more?"

"The plague we encountered at Karthas has spread across Sicyon to Mellos and Kesus," Nikandros says, somber. "It has caused fear and panic. People have begun hoarding food, which is creating shortages. Kastor has not handled it well and the situation is deteriorating. Already many have perished due to starvation or violence."

Damen closes his eyes. The longer he is away, the more chaos grows. "Anything else?"

"There are many more disturbing rumors, but nothing I can confirm yet. Kastor has been working to seal the borders."

"Is he really so paranoid as to think anyone who might want to leave Akielos will immediately come to my side and provide succor?"

"Well, you are marching upon him at the head of a foreign army--"

"I'm not marching upon him," Damen interrupts. "I need to reach him to rectify this--this misunderstanding that has taken place ever since Father died and everything turned to shit." 

"And you still believe he had no role to play in the king's death or the ensuing shit that followed?"

"How can you ask that?" Damen swallows. "The King died in a tragic hunting accident. Mother was sick for years."

"And the fact that their deaths were so closely timed while you were far away has no bearing--"

"I will not listen to this idle speculation." Damen stands. "Kastor has much to answer for in exiling me, for declaring me a--a traitor and questioning my lineage. He has been cruel towards innocents who had the simple misfortune of knowing or caring for me once. But the idea that he--"

"That he has lusted for your crown for years, has been plotting and waiting for a moment to strike?" Nikandros leaps up as well. "How many times did I say to you--"

"You are dismissed," Damen says, turning away.

"Will you run from the truth forever? Will you turn your back on the ones who truly love you for a delusion?"

Damen closes his eyes. "I have much work to do and I cannot have my mind cluttered with all this nonsense and talk of conspiracy. Good afternoon, Nikandros."

**Author's Note:**

> Specifics of the canon divergence: the Regent died as a teenager. Both Laurent & Damianos' mothers are alive as of the beginning of the story. Laurent's mother doesn't die when he is young, which means Vere doesn't lose its political ties with kingdoms to the west, and leaves no openings for Akielos to attack while it is weak. Aleron & Auguste are therefore still alive.


End file.
